JULIET  W1LBOR  TOMPKINS 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


DR.   ELLEN 


I 

RUTH 


Dr.  Ellen 


BY 

JULIET  WILBOR   TOMPKINS 


NEW   YORK 

THE  BAKER  fcf  TAYLOR  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1908,  by 

THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 


Published,  January,  1908 


The  Plimpton  Press  Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


do 


DR.   ELLEN 


DR.    ELLEN 


r  I  ^HE  girl  appeared  disproportionately  happy,  even 
-•-  absurdly  so.  Amsden  had  watched  her  during 
the  somewhat  stupid  finals  of  the  tennis  tournament 
that  afternoon,  his  attention  caught  by  an  impression 
of  surface  brilliance  that  made  her  seem  of  another 
race  from  the  young  women  about  her  in  the  little  hot 
grandstand.  The  brilliance  was  not  of  colour,  for  the 
faint  powdery  blondness  of  her  hair  found  little  con 
trast  in  her  light  hazel  eyes  and  even  paleness;  it  was 
the  breathless  happiness  shining  out  that  made  her 
seem  so  vivid.  She  was  full  of  eager  laughs  that 
spilled  over  at  the  lightest  touch.  Her  eyes  followed 
the  balls  back  and  forth  with  joyous  abandon;  she 
cried  out  at  tense  moments,  and  beat  her  parasol  on 
the  platform  in  applause.  She  seemed  to  have  an 
inordinate  capacity  for  trivial  excitements,  vaguely 
repelling  in  a  young  woman  who  was  clearly  out  of  her 
teens. 

Later,  Amsden,  who  had  paused  near  the  door  of  the 
ballroom,  found  her  looking  on  there  with  the  same 
intensity,  and  extracting  from  the  conversation  of  Will 
Wallace  a  stimulating  charm  which  to  Amsden's 
positive  knowledge  did  not  exist.  Had  she  been 


DR.    ELLEN 

fifteen!  But  time  had  marked  her  twenty-three  or 
four  at  least;  besides,  she  was  evidently  with  Christine 
O'Hara,  and  Christine  was  no  missionary  to  de*bu- 
tantes.  Amsden's  eyes  followed  the  latter's  light  red 
curls  about  the  ballroom  until  they  paused  near  an 
open  window,  then  he  crossed  to  her  with  a  deliberate 
slowness  that  was  not  at  all  a  stroll.  In  all  his  actions 
there  was  a  neat  precision  that  precluded  any  impres 
sion  of  loose-jointed  carelessness. 

Christine's  smile  at  his  approach  had  a  histrionic 
quality.  "  Me  to  be  so  honoured !"  it  said  as  she  turned 
from  a  red  and  shiny  partner  some  seven  years  her 
juinor  —  the  tournament  dance  was  not  a  socially 
brilliant  affair. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  demanded  in 
mock  alarm.  "  Don't  you  know  that  grown  men  under 
fifty  are  not  allowed  in  the  ballroom?" 

Amsden  smiled  indulgently  at  the  broad,  plump  face 
in  its  frame  of  little  curls.  He  could  not  trouble  to  be 
playful  himself,  but  he  had  no  objection  to  Christine's 
gambols  so  long  as  they  made  no  demand  on  him,  A 
delicate  skin  and  amusing  little  brown  eyes  would  have 
made  her  pretty  if  she  had  not  used  her  face  much 
as  a  more  frankly  coy  generation  did  its  fan,  peering 
through  it  for  effects,  presenting  it  always  at  a  mean 
ingful  angle. 

"Who  is  that  rapturous  young  woman  you  have 
with  you?"  he  asked. 

"So  that  is  what  brings  you  —  not  me  at  all,"  said 
Christine  inevitably,  though  more  by  way  of  doing  her 


DR.    ELLEN 

duty  by  the  situation  than  in  any  expectation  of  a 
response.  "It's  Ruth  Chantry,"  she  added.  " Didn't 
you  ever  know  the  Chantry  girls?"  Her  eyes  were 
wandering  restlessly  among  the  dancers  as  though 
marking  future  partners.  A  little  girl  of  twelve  with 
long,  pink  legs  was  whirled  by,  waltzing  exquisitely, 
with  the  bland  air  of  one  who  has  partners  in  abundance. 
"How  absurd  to  let  that  child  sit  up,"  Christine  ex 
claimed  impatiently. 

"Was  there  an  older  Chantry  girl  who  had  some 
sort  of  a  tragedy?"  Amsden  asked. 

"Yes,  Ellen.  Ruth  has  a  tragedy,  too,  let  me  tell 
you." 

"She  looks  it." 

Christine  laughed.  "What  you  are  seeing  is  a 
momentary  escape.  That  girl  has  been  cooped  up 
in  a  little  cabin  off  in  the  Sierras  for  three  solid  years 
—  not  one  day  in  town,  even.  What  do  you  think  of 
that  for  tyranny?" 

"Who  is  the  tyrant?" 

"  Oh,  Ellen  —  Mrs.  Roderick,  she  is.  She  chooses 
to  live  there,  and  Ruth  has  to  live  with  her.  I'd  go 
mad.  I  can't  stand  Ellen,  anyway.  She's  su-per-ior!" 
The  word  crinkled  her  expressive  nose.  "Come  and 
meet  Ruth,  if  you  like,"  she  added  briskly,  as  the 
music  came  to  a  halt  and  various  partners  were  set 
free.  "I  want  her  to  have  a  good  time." 

Amsden  followed  somewhat  reluctantly.  The  mis 
sionary  spirit  was  not  strong  in  him,  and  the  girl  inter 
ested  him  as  an  abstract  fact  rather  than  as  a  personal 

3 


DR.    ELLEN 

acquaintance.  Moreover,  he  was  impatient  of  being 
detained  in  this  absurd  ballroom,  fuD  of  undistinguish- 
able  young  women  and  crimson  tennis  heroes.  All 
this  belonged  to  a  phase  he  had  passed  too  long  ago 
for  a  trace  of  charm  to  linger,  and  yet  too  recently  for 
any  reminiscent  sympathy. 

Ruth  Chantry  showed  herself  as  glad  of  meeting 
Amsden  as  she  was  of  even-thing  else.  Her  light  hazel 
eyes  were  brimming  with  smiles. 

"I  am  not  dancing  because  I  solemnly  promised  not 
to  get  overtired,"  she  explained;  Amsden  had  suggested 
a  waltz  as  the  easiest  way  of  meeting  the  situation, 
feeling  himself  helpless  to  cope  with  so  much  enthu 
siasm.  "It's  not  that  I  don't  love  it!" 

"Then  you  are  an  invalid?"  he  asked,  taking  the 
chair  beside  her.  She  laughed,  and  showed  a  brown 
forearm  under  the  ruffles  of  her  thin  white  dress. 

"Does  that  look  like  an  invalid?  I  was  one,  three 
years  ago,"  she  added.  "At  least,  I  had  been  very 
ill,  and  my  sister  got  so  in  the  habit  of  laying  down  the 
law,  she  can't  get  over  it."  There  was  a  trace  of  im 
patience  in  her  tone  that  interested  Amsden,  who  was 
always  curious  about  human  relations  that  did  not 
touch  himself. 

"Is  your  sister  here  to-night?"  he  asked  with  a 
glance  towards  the  dancers.  She  laughed. 

"Fancy  Ellen  — out  there!"  Her  delight  at  the 
idea  brought  a  smile  of  sympathy  that  asked  for  an 
explanation.  "My  sister  is  a  doctor,"  she  said  in 
answer.  "She  rides  about  the  mountains  on  a  cavalry 

4 


DR.    ELLEN 

saddle,  with  saddle-bags  full  of  medicines  and  instru 
ments,  and  the  poor  women  have  to  hide  their  beloved 
patent  medicines  under  the  mattress  when  they  hear 
her  coming  —  they  are  deadly  afraid  of  her.  Every 
one  is  afraid  of  her,"  she  added  resentfully. 

"Is  she  so  stern?"  Amsden  asked.  The  picture  had 
appealed  to  him. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  stern  at  all  —  very  calm  and  kind  and 
firm  and  fine  and  just."  Her  vivid  face  had  clouded. 
"  Don't  you  think  that  superiority  frightens  people 
more  than  anything  else?" 

"I  think  it  makes  them  very  cross,"  he  said  with 
amused  understanding.  She  expanded  delightedly. 

"Only  one  can't  admit  it;  it  sounds  so  small  and 
mean!"  she  exclaimed.  And  so  there  was  a  secret 
between  them  already.  "Don't  you  hate  to  be  big 
and  just  and  broad-minded?" 

"I  never  tried."  It  was  pleasant  to  humour 
her,  and  see  the  satisfaction  well  up  in  her  hazel 
eyes. 

"How  nice!  I  am  always  trying  —  like  the  frog 
who  tried  to  swell  up  into  an  ox.  He  didn't  really 
want  to  be  an  ox,  I  am  sure,  but  his  family  expected 
it  of  him." 

"Might  one  not  be  a  very  modest  ox  who  mistook 
himself  for  a  frog?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  no.  I  was  born  with 
all  the  comfortable  little  feminine  vices  —  I  am  vain, 
you  know,  and  jealous,  and  petty,  and  unreasonable, 
and  cowardly,  and  I  have  been  shamed  out  of  showing 

5 


DR.    ELLEN 

them  all  my  life.  You  don't  know  how  horrid  it  is  to 
be  high-minded  every  day!" 

This  burst  of  confidence  was  so  earnest  that  Amsden 
was  moved  to  laughter.  "I  can't  imagine  anything 
more  awful,"  he  admitted,  whereupon  she  laughed  too. 

Christine  O'Hara  paused  in  front  of  them,  his 
trionically  pouting.  Christine  would  have  denned 
feelings  as  facial  expressions  designed  to  add  piquancy 
to  conversation  —  if  she  had  been  given  to  definitions. 

"He  never  laughs  when  he  is  with  me,"  she  com 
plained.  "How  did  you  make  him,  Ruth?" 

Ruth  reflected.  "Why,  I  told  him  the  tragedy  of 
my  life,"  she  decided. 

"Well,  I  dare  say  that  is  awfully  funny,"  said  Chris 
tine.  She  had  taken  Amsden's  chair  and  he  stood  in 
front  of  them,  free  to  escape,  yet  for  once  in  no  hurry 
to  take  advantage  of  it.  "But  I  have  a  tragedy  that 
is  funnier  yet.  We  are  going  to  be  one  man  short  on 
our  drive  to-morrow.  I  don't  suppose  you  would 
come,"  she  added  to  Amsden. 

"Why  not  ask  me  and  see?" 

Christine  asked  him  with  elaborate  formality,  but 
Ruth  Chantry  smiled  up  at  him  like  a  happy  little 
girl.  Such  enthusiasm  was  perhaps  vaguely  repelling 
in  a  young  woman  clearly  out  of  her  teens;  but  Amsden 
had  forgotten  that. 


II 

PHILIP  AMSDEN  had  gone  to  the  tennis  tournament 
at  San  Rafael  because  he  was  tired  of  being  told  that 
he  was  overworking.  Of  course  he  was;  he  did  not 
need  outside  advice  to  know  that.  A  young  architect 
in  a  big  city  is  inevitably  overworking  if  he  can  claim 
such  a  position  as  Amsden  had  reached  at  thirty-three. 
He  was  not  an  enthusiast  at  life,  but  success,  worldly 
and  artistic,  had  seemed  to  him,  as  he  put  it,  "worth 
the  trouble,"  and  he  had  aimed  towards  this  with 
quiet  singleness  of  purpose.  This  deliberate  choice, 
excluding  many  elements  inevitable  to  the  lives  of  the 
men  about  him,  was  beginning  gradually  to  enclose 
him  in  a  sort  of  shell  which  might  in  time  become  one 
and  inseparable  with  the  man  himself;  as  yet  he  was 
half  indifferently  conforming  to  what  the  world  de 
manded  of  him.  A  sincere  respect  for  his  art  and  an 
amused  contempt  for  the  conditions  to  worldly  success 
made  the  outer  conforming  comparatively  easy,  and, 
as  yet,  little  harmful;  his  spirit  was  still  that  of  one 
who  lends  himself  for  an  evening  to  a  children's  party. 
This  implies,  and  quite  truthfully,  a  certain  conceit. 
Amsden  felt  himself  civilized  above  his  community. 
It  was  definitely  within  his  intentions,  however,  that 

7 


DR.    ELLEN 

the  community  should  not  be  unpleasantly  conscious 
of  the  fact,  with  the  result  that  he  was  usually  described 
as  a  " quiet,  likeable  sort  of  a  chap,"  or  "a  pleasant 
fellow  to  have  round."  Of  women  younger  than 
himself  he  saw  little,  for  a  sharp  experience  three 
years  before  had  left  him  with  several  generalizations, 
the  chief  being  that  love  is  a  power  vastly  exaggerated 
by  novelists.  The  memory  of  his  brief,  inglorious 
engagement  could  still  make  him  wince.  It  had  been 
a  nightmare  of  analysis,  for,  instead  of  finding  love  by 
forgetting  it,  they  had  cornered  the  poor  butterfly  at 
the  first  flutter  and  investigated  it  conscientiously  until 
not  a  stirring  of  its  wings  survived  and  they  were  left 
with  only  their  empty  questions  between  them.  "Do 
you  love  me?"  is  the  natural  song  of  the  true  lover, 
but  "Do  I  love  you?"  is  a  blight  and  an  enemy  to  joy. 
When  the  end  came,  they  had  kissed  each  other  very 
sadly  and  gone  home  to  tears  and  bitterness;  and  both 
had  waked  up  the  next  morning  vastly  relieved.  So 
had  ended  the  first  lesson,  and  Amsden  had  gone  in 
for  success,  believing  that  he  had  done  with  illusions. 
Personally  he  was  grave,  slight  and  scholarly  looking, 
with  the  refining  mark  of  a  long  New  England  ancestry 
in  his  face,  tempered  by  some  sturdier  reflection  of  his 
California  heritage.  He  was  not  robust,  but  his  grey 
eyes  behind  his  glasses  had  a  look  of  quiet  strength. 
It  was  easy  to  fancy  Amsden  living  well  into  the  eighties 
with  all  his  senses  intact. 

Monday  morning  he  was  back  at  his  San  Francisco 
office,  but   obviously  not   overworking.     A   mood   of 

8 


DR.    ELLEN 

pleasant  idleness  seemed  to  have  come  back  with  him. 
The  fact  that  he  was  to  dine  that  night  at  the  O'Haras' 
would  usually  have  depressed  him,  but  to-day  it  seemed 
an  agreeable  prospect.  Pictures  of  Ruth  Chantry, 
floating  before  his  vision,  filled  him  with  paternal 
kindliness.  She  had  a  curious  wet  shine  in  her  eyes 
when  she  laughed,  and  her  almost  colorless  hair  looked 
as  if  it  would  cling  to  one's  finger  like  a  baby's.  Amsden 
smiled  indulgently  at  the  recollection,  tipping  back 
from  his  work-table  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
There  was  a  pleasant  lack  of  intellectual  effort  in  talk 
ing  to  her.  He  had  come  back  from  that  long  driving 
trip  as  unwearied  as  if  his  companion  had  been  a 
merry  little  dog.  The  exhausting  researches  into  life 
and  character  that  had  been  a  part  of  his  brief  engage 
ment  had  left  Amsden  with  a  deep  antipathy  to  in 
timate  feminine  conversation.  Those  hours  of  feverish 
analysis,  the  endless  letters  of  minute  explanation, 
could  oppress  him  even  yet  with  the  burden  of  their 
weary  futility.  They  had  not  taught  him  to  think 
less,  for  he  was  essentially  of  those  who  wonder  at  this 
world  until  they  die;  but  they  had  left  a  mental  nausea 
for  intensity,  so  that  his  chosen  companions  of  the 
past  few  years  had  been  practical  men  of  affairs  or 
sports,  and  two  little  nieces  who  could  be  made  entirely 
happy  by  being  abruptly  turned  upside  down,  or  having 
ten- cent  pieces  dropped  down  their  backs  to  be  glo 
riously  jumped  out.  Ruth  Chantry's  demands  did  not 
seem  much  more  complicated. 
Amsden  came  into  the  O'Hara  drawing-room,  top- 

9 


DR.    ELLEN 

heavy  with  the  sombre  grandeur  of  the  black- walnut- 
and- cornice  period,  to  find  the  two  girls  absorbed  in 
putting  together  a  cut-out  picture  from  a  Sunday 
paper.  Christine  was  fond  of  being  discovered  at 
some  naive  occupation.  She  could  scarcely  spare 
attention  for  a  nod  to  her  guest,  but  Ruth  frankly 
deserted  and  sat  beaming  at  Amsden,  while  Mr.  O'Hara 
declaimed  at  him  from  the  hearth-rug  on  the  blunders 
and  stupidities  of  architects,  and  Mrs.  O'Hara  ner 
vously  wished  he  wouldn't.  Mrs.  O'Hara  entertained 
in  a  constant  tremour  lest  somebody  should  not  like 
something  that  was  said,  and  hovered  about  the  con 
versation  of  her  husband  and  daughter  much  as  the 
wet-sponge  deputy  hovers  about  the  Christmas  tree  at 
an  infant  festival.  Amsden  smiled  reassuringly  at  her 
soothing  interjections. 

"Oh,  architects  are  used  to  being  attacked,  Mrs. 
O'Hara,"  he  said.  "We  don't  mind  so  long  as  you 
can't  do  without  us." 

"And  sometimes  we  can  that,"  broke  in  Mr.  O'Hara. 
"Miss  Ruth,  didn't  your  sister  do  all  her  own  archi- 
tecting  for  that  house  of  yours  up  by  Gallop?" 

"And  a  good  deal  of  the  building,  too,"  said  Ruth. 
"  Ellen  has  a  passion  for  climbing  on  beams  and  pound 
ing  nails.  She  takes  it  all  out  that  way." 

"Takes  what  all  out?"  asked  Amsden,  more  to  see 
her  grow  vivid  with  the  ardour  of  explanation  than  in 
curiosity  for  her  answer. 

"Oh,  exuberance,  you  know.  When  other  people 
would  be  excited  or  joyous  or  angry  all  over,  Ellen 

10 


DR.    ELLEN 

seems  to  get  it  just  in  her  right  arm,  and  she  smashes 
it  all  down  into  a  nail  without  moving  a  muscle  any 
where  else."  The  shine  that  had  haunted  Amsden 
all  day  was  already  in  her  face.  "  Ellen  never  goes  to 
pieces  over  things,  you  know.  I  think  she  is  made 
of  one  solid  piece,  while  I  am  a  million  little 
blocks." 

"Put  together  with  very  bad  mucilage,"  added  Chris 
tine,  whose  absorption  in  her  cut-out  picture  had  died 
for  lack  of  notice. 

"Put  together  with  fire  and  dew,"  thought  Amsden 
with  an  inexplicable  impulse  of  pity. 

"Well,  Ellen  Chantry  is  a  fine  girl,"  declared  Mr. 
O'Hara.  "I'll  not  say  I'd  be  wanting  a  lady  doctor 
about  me  —  "  Mrs.  O'Hara  looked  hasty  apology  at 
Ruth  —  "but  it's  a  fine  sight  to  see  a  woman  with 
brains  who  doesn't  spend  her  whole  time  over  trash 
and  parties,  like  Christine  here.  Well,  Mr.  Wallace, 
we  are  glad  to  see  you,  heartily  glad;  we're  all  getting 
savage  with  hunger." 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Wallace,  dinner  has  only  just  been 
announced,"  urged  poor  Mrs.  O'Hara. 

Mr.  Wallace,  a  kindly  young  man  of  the  fat-boy 
order,  who  was  always  called  on  when  one  more  man 
was  needed,  and  who  always  came,  laughed  his  apol 
ogies  and  took  his  place  happily  by  Christine,  whom 
he  considered  "a  great  old  sport."  The  two  kept  the 
talk  in  their  hands  during  dinner,  and  Amsden,  who 
had  no  personal  misadventures  to  relate  and  little  love 
of  "guying,"  would  have  found  it  unrelievedly  dull  if 

ii 


DR.    ELLEN 

Ruth  Chantry,  beside  him,  had  not  been  so  exquisitely 
happy.  She  laughed  till  her  eyes  were  little  hazel  slits 
of  light,  giving  herself  up  whole-heartedly  to  the  gaiety 
of  the  hour,  yet  without  once  slipping  into  silliness. 
Her  spirit  infected  them  all. 

When  Mrs.  O'Hara  rose,  Ruth  clung  to  the  sides  of 
her  chair  and  looked  pleadingly  at  her  host. 

"Oh,  don't  make  us  go  off  alone  while  you  smoke!" 
she  begged.  "  Just  think,  this  is  my  last  night.  Please 
let  me  stay!"  They  laughed  at  her  earnestness  and 
settled  back  in  their  chairs. 

"That  you  shall,  my  dear!"  Mr.  O'Hara  patted 
her  hand.  "And  why  shouldn't  you  stay  another 
week  with  us?" 

Ruth  shook  her  head.  "If  you  knew  the  struggle 
I  had  to  get  this  week!  And  it  does  make  it  hard  for 
Ellen,"  she  added  conscientiously.  "Ying  won't 
answer  the  telephone,  so  there  is  no  one  to  take  mes 
sages  when  she  is  off.  And  as  Ellen  is  the  only  doctor 
in  or  near  Gallop  who  is  always  sober  — "  She  broke 
off  to  smile  at  the  general  laugh. 

"You're  a  good  girl,"  commented  Mr.  O'Hara. 

"Well,  Christine  is  coming  up  to  spend  August;  I 
have  that  ahead,"  said  Ruth  contentedly. 

"I  am  going  to  take  my  vacation  in  August,"  sug 
gested  Wallace.  "Why  can't  I  come,  too?  I  could 
put  up  somewhere  near  you,  couldn't  I?" 

"Oh,  Will,  how  perfectly  lovely!"  exclaimed  Chris 
tine. 

"And  there  is  Mrs.  Dorn  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
12 


DR.    ELLEN 

away  —  she  will  make  you  as  comfortable!"  said 
Ruth,  excitedly.  "Do  you  really  mean  it?" 

"Certainly.  Say,  Amsden,  why  don't  you  come, 
too?  It's  bully  country,  and  you  need  a  vacation, 
don't  you?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Amsden,  you  must!"  cried  Christine. 
He  turned  amusedly  to  Ruth. 

"Shall  I?"  he  asked,  not  in  the  least  intending  it. 
It  was  as  though  the  heavens  opened  and  the  glory 
shone  through. 

"Oh,  will  you?"  came  breathlessly.  Amsden  could 
have  caught  her  up  in  his  arms  and  laughed  and  cried 
over  her,  she  seemed  to  him  so  infinitely  young  and 
pathetic. 

"Of  course  I  will!"  he  said  quickly. 


Ill 

THE  stage  was  nearly  empty  as  it  wound  up  the  last 
mile  towards  Gallop.  Amsden,  perched  on  top,  well 
behind  the  driver,  spread  his  arms  along  the  back  of 
the  seat  and  gave  himself  up  to  the  sense  of  being 
floated  between  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth,  silently 
rejoicing  that  a  delay  in  his  affairs  had  forced  him  to 
make  the  trip  alone.  All  about  him  towered  the  peaks 
of  the  Sierra,  cutting  sharply  into  the  pool  of  thin  gold 
left  by  the  sunset.  From  the  mouths  of  darkly  green 
canons  came  breaths  of  clean,  primeval  night  and  the 
sounds  of  running  water,  and  down  every  slope  drifted 
the  fragrance  of  sun-steeped  pines,  not  crowded  to 
gether  in  the  blurred  mass  of  forests,  but  standing  apart 
in  solitary  dignity,  each  lifting  to  the  sky  its  separate 
effort  of  symmetry  and  grace.  The  evening  cool 
deepened,  pouring  deliciously  over  his  hands  and  face 
as  a  great  star  splashed  out  just  above  the  northern 
peaks.  Amsden,  his  head  thrown  back,  was  so  merged 
in  the  greatness  of  the  earth  that  his  individual  life 
was  a  forgotten  triviality.  His  spirit  seemed  to  rise 
and  hover  above  an  oblivious  body,  the  city  and  the 
quest  of  success  were  as  remote  as  his  childhood.  He 
had  not  taken  a  vacation  for  three  years,  and  had 

14 


DR.    ELLEN 

almost  reached  the  dangerous  point  of  not  desiring 
one:  the  revulsion  from  city  limitations  left  him  buoy 
ant,  as  though  he  had  just  escaped  some  bodily  danger. 
The  night  was  like  a  purifying  river  rushing  through 
him.  So  deep  was  his  absorption  that  he  did  not  notice 
the  stopping  of  the  stage,  and  felt  a  shock  of  disap 
pointment,  childish  in  its  intensity,  as  he  realized  that 
someone  had  mounted  to  the  seat  beside  him.  He 
moved  over,  not  taking  his  eyes  from  the  miracle  over 
head;  but  the  enchantment  was  broken,  and  he  was, 
after  all,  only  a  tired  traveller  on  top  of  a  stage-coach. 
He  straightened  up  with  a  stretch  and  a  sigh,  and 
looked  at  his  companion,  a  man  of  lean  middle-age, 
with  grey  hair  floating  above  his  coat  collar,  humor 
ously  plain,  but  with  something  likeable  in  his  eccentric 
features,  palely  freckled,  and  in  the  grave  friendliness 
of  the  little  nondescript  eyes.  Amsden  felt  a  primitive 
desire  to  have  this  man  like  him. 

"Nice  night,  isn't  it?"  he  said,  as  their  glance  met. 
The  man  considered  a  moment. 

"Well,  yes,  sir,  I  reckon  it's  a  nice  night  down  here 
on  top  of  a  comfortable  stage-coach,  with  nothing  to 
make  trouble,"  he  said,  a  faint  southern  cadence  giving 
his  voice  an  unexpected  warmth.  "Up  there  where 
I've  been,"  he  dipped  his  head  towards  the  slope  they 
were  leaving,  "it  ain't  so  nice.  I've  been  burying  a 
child  —  little  girl  of  five.  Her  folks  waited  thirteen 
years  for  her,  and  they  won't  get  another.  Pretty 
rough!"  He  passed  his  hand  heavily  over  his  fore 
head  and  eyes,  then  turned  to  Amsden  with  subdued 


DR.    ELLEN 

intensity.  "I'm  a  preacher,  after  a  fashion,  but  I 
don't  know  any  comfort  that  takes  hold  in  an  hour 
like  this.  Do  you?" 

"No,"  said  Amsden,  with  a  startled  sense  that  life 
up  here  might  be  as  near  and  naked  as  the  great  blazing 
stars  that  seemed  to  hang  close  above  their  heads. 

"Pretty  soon  they'll  see  that  it  was  the  Lord's  will, 
and  not  anyone's  fault,"  the  man  went  on,  staring 
absently  before  him.  "But  just  now  — "  he  broke  off 
with  a  quick  sigh.  "Life  in  the  mountains  is  all  like 
that,  somehow.  Trouble  never  gets  very  far  off. 
Why  don't  more  people  come  and  try  to  help?" 

The  thought  of  Ruth  Chantry,  whose  girlhood  was 
being  sacrificed  to  her  sister's  missionary  impulse, 
checked  Amsden's  rising  sympathy. 

"Most  people  have  obligations  somewhere  else," 
he  said  slowly.  "The  first  debt  is  to  the  happiness  of 
our  own  people.  One  has  no  right  to  sacrifice  a  mother 
or  a  sister  —  not  to  a  thousand  mountaineers." 

The  man  turned  to  him  eagerly.  "Not  if  the  mother 
or  the  sister  is  worth  more  to  the  world  —  that's  right, 
sir.  You've  got  to  get  off  and  look  at  these  things 
from  a  distance.  Where's  the  biggest  value?  You 
decide  that  the  best  way  you  can,  and  then  go  ahead. 
Your  mother  might  be  worth  more  to  humanity  than 
all  the  women  in  the  Sierras  put  together:  then  you 
stick  by  her  life  and  minister  to  it  as  long  as  you  live. 
That's  your  job." 

"But  suppose  the  value  were  not  to  humanity,  but 
to  her  and  to  me  and  to  one  or  two  others,"  Amsden 

16 


DR.    ELLEN 

was  beginning  in  vigorous  protest  when  a  shout  and  a 
waving  hat  from  the  road  brought  the  stage  to  a  creak 
ing  halt. 

"Hello!"  called  the  boyish  voice  of  Will  Wallace 
from  the  dimness.  "Stand  and  deliver!  You  up 
there,  Amsden?" 

"  Hello !"  Amsden  rose,  kicking  a  stiff  knee. 
"How  are  you,  Wallace?  Is  this  where  I  get  down?" 

"Yes.  Leave  your  luggage.  Say,  driver,  put  his 
bag  off  at  Mrs.  Dorn's  gate,  will  you?  They  will  be 
watching  for  it.  You  are  to  come  up  to  the  cabin  for 
supper,"  he  added,  as  Amsden  dropped  in  the  road 
beside  him.  "  Bet  you're  ready  for  it.  Hold  up  till  I 
light  this  lantern:  you'll  need  it  if  you  don't  know  the 
trail.  I  lost  five  square  feet  of  skin  before  I  got  over 
being  a  tenderfoot."  Amsden  laughed,  feeling  sud 
denly  very  jovial  and  human,  and  accepted  the  lantern. 
As  the  stage  lumbered  off,  he  waved  to  the  solitary 
figure  on  top. 

"Good-night!    See  you  again,  I  hope,"  he  called. 

"Good-night,  sir.  I  hope  so,"  came  the  hearty 
answer. 

Wallace  led  the  way  up  a  winding  trail,  free  from 
underbrush,  but  made  treacherous  by  smooth  slabs 
and  jutting  ledges  of  rock.  Absolute  night  seemed  to 
have  shut  down  about  them  since  the  lighting  of  the 
lantern.  Wallace  showed  an  astonishing  nimbleness. 

"The  dark  here  is  of  the  best  quality  black  velvet; 
none  of  your  flimsy,  semi-transparent  stuffs,"  he  ex 
plained.  "It's  a  great  old  place  —  bully.  You'll  like 

17 


DR.    ELLEN 

it.  You  want  to  get  in  the  good  graces  of  Ying,  first 
thing  you  do;  then  you're  all  right.  Can't  he 
cook!" 

"But  surely  those  two  girls  don't  live  here  alone 
with  a  Chinaman?"  Amsden  asked. 

"Oh,  Ying  brought  'em  up.  He  has  been  in  the 
family  thirty  years  —  beats  any  guardian  angel  you 
ever  saw  for  devotion  and  chaperonage."  Wallace 
chuckled  at  some  recollection.  "Besides,  Ellen  Chan 
try  would  be  equal  to  six  Chinamen,"  he  added. 
"  She's  off  most  of  the  time,  doctoring  —  and  you  won't 
be  so  awful  sorry." 

"Why?"  Amsden  was  becoming  decidedly  curious 
about  Mrs.  Roderick. 

"Oh,  I  can  hit  it  off  with  her  all  right.  (Look  out 
for  this  rock  here  —  it  has  got  some  of  my  left  shin  on 
it  yet.)  Ellen's  a  nice,  quiet,  sensible  sort  of  girl,  so 
far  as  I  can  see.  But  she  shuts  the  others  up,  somehow. 
We  never  get  really  howling  when  she's  around,  don't 
you  know?  And  then  it  is  pretty  mean,  the  way  she 
keeps  Ruth  glued  up  here  summer  and  winter.  I 
guess  she's  sort  of  selfish.  There,  see  that  light  up 
ahead,  to  the  right?  That's  the  cabin.  Bet  you're 
glad."  And  he  lifted  a  shrill  "Whoo-oo!"  that  went 
echoing  off  among  the  canons.  A  door  opened,  show 
ing  a  glowing  square  of  light,  and  a  feminine  "Whoo- 
oo!"  answered.  A  few  minutes  later  Amsden  stood 
blinking  in  the  doorway  of  a  big,  low-ceilinged  room, 
rosy  with  firelight,  and  Ruth  Chantry  was  welcoming 
him  as  a  prisoner  might  welcome  deliverance. 

18 


DR.    ELLEN 

"You  did  come,  after  all!  And  I  have  worried 
about  it  day  and  night,"  she  cried. 

"But  of  course  I  came,"  he  said  in  unmistakable 
satisfaction. 

Any  tired  traveller  must  have  felt  the  charm  of  the 
place.  Evidently  this  was  literally  a  living-room,  for 
at  one  end  stood  a  supper  table,  across  a  corner  hung 
a  hammock  piled  with  red  cushions,  low  bookcases  full 
of  pleasantly  worn  volumes  lined  the  wall  on  either 
side  of  the  arched  fireplace,  and  against  the  opposite 
wall  a  staircase  mounted  to  the  rooms  above.  The 
walls  were  of  redwood,  set  in  wide  panels  and  wholly 
free  from  ornament  except  for  brass  sconces  holding 
candles;  the  chimney  looked  a  rough  pile  of  rounded 
and  irregular  stones,  the  rugs  were  skins  of  animals. 
Christine  O'Hara,  with  a  blue-checked  apron  over  her 
white  dress  and  the  firelight  making  a  halo  of  her 
light  red  curls,  was  setting  the  table  with  a  busy-house 
wife  air,  too  domestic  and  important  to  give  more 
than  a  passing  handshake  to  the  newcomer,  though 
her  energy  flagged  visibly  when  Wallace  led  him  off 
down  a  porch  and  through  a  side  door  and  offered 
him  the  freedom  of  a  civilized  bath  tub. 

"Better  grab  your  chance,"  he  suggested.  "At 
Mrs.  Dorn's  you'll  have  to  wash  in  a  doll's  tea-set. 
We  won't  have  supper  till  Ellen  gets  in,  anyway." 

Amsden  accepted  the  offer  gratefully,  and  twenty 
minutes  later  came  out  with  renewed  self-respect, 
pausing  on  the  porch  for  a  deep  breath  of  the  sharp, 
aromatic  night.  A  sound  of  hoofs  drew  his  eyes  to 

19 


DR.    ELLEN 

the  road  that  passed  beneath  him  to  a  rough  outbuild 
ing.  As  his  sight  adjusted  to  the  dark,  he  saw  a  tired 
horse  with  drooping  head  and  a  rider  who  sat  with 
hanging  reins,  her  face  hidden  under  a  felt  brim,  but 
her  whole  attitude  showing  abstraction.  The  horse 
paused  at  the  shed  door,  but  she  did  not  dismount 
until  a  reproachful  whinney  roused  her.  Then  she 
swung  herself  down  from  her  masculine  saddle,  patting 
his  neck  as  though  in  apology,  and  called: 

"Ying!"  A  wire  door  somewhere  in  the  rear 
creaked  open. 

"  APlight!  You  put  him  inside  —  I  come  plesently," 
answered  a  voice  in  the  imperative  accents  of  Ameri 
canized  China.  "You  hurly  up  now  —  supper  all  get 
spoiled." 

Woman  and  horse  vanished  obediently  into  the  shed 
and  Amsden  turned  to  the  living-room. 

"Evidently  that  is  the  superior  Ellen,"  was  his 
comment. 

Christine  had  told  him  what  the  world  knew  about 
Ellen.  She  had  perhaps  good  right  to  be  unlike 
others.  Nine  years  before  she  had  stood  at  a  window 
and  seen  her  husband  instantly  killed  by  a  car.  Her 
child  had  been  born  in  the  hour  of  his  funeral,  its  own 
tiny  funeral  following  a  week  later.  When  it  was 
time  for  Ellen  to  emerge  again,  people  found  that  she 
had  no  intention  of  emerging,  but  was  wholly  absorbed 
in  studying  medicine.  It  was  natural  that  such  an 
experience  had  left  her  a  little  queer,  and  they  were 
glad  that  the  poor  girl  had  something  to  take  her 

20 


DR.    ELLEN 

thoughts.  When  she  began  to  practise,  they  even  sent 
for  her  to  attend  their  prote'ge's  or  their  maids  —  and 
were  a  little  shocked  that  she  came  in  blue  serge 
rather  than  in  the  permissible  black  and  white.  But 
the  maids  and  the  prote'ge's  flourished,  and  the  profes 
sion  began  to  take  Dr.  Roderick  so  seriously  that  even 
her  old  friends  were  impressed.  She  seemed  actually 
about  to  achieve  a  career  when  Ruth's  serious  illness 
made  a  trip  to  the  mountains  advisable.  There  she 
had  taken  up  work  among  the  mountaineers,  and  had 
become  so  absorbed  in  it  that  she  could  not  be  dragged 
back  to  civilization  even  for  a  day. 

"At  least,  Ruth  believes  that  is  why  she  stays," 
Christine  added.  "I  am  not  so  sure!  There  is  some 
thing  queer  about  it." 

Ruth,  poor  girl,  starving  for  young  life,  was  forced 
to  stay  on  there  year  after  year.  Christine  had  visited 
her  every  summer,  but  when  a  return  visit  was  sug 
gested,  Ellen  always  found  means  to  prevent  it,  not 
caring,  doubtless,  to  be  left  up  there  alone.  Of  course 
Ellen  did  a  great  deal  of  good  —  outside  her  home. 

"Missionaries  never  do  consider  their  families," 
Christine  ended  indignantly.  "Someone  ought  to 
interfere.  Ruth  can't  do  it  herself  because  —  oh,  well, 
if  you  knew  Ellen!  But  someone  ought  to." 

And  Amsden  quite  agreed  that  someone  ought.  It 
was  nothing  to  him  personally;  he  was  simply  moved 
by  the  abstract  principle  that  anyone  who  could  be 
made  happy  as  easily  as  Ruth  Chantry,  should  be 
made  happy. 

21 


DR.    ELLEN 

Mrs.  Roderick  was  something  of  a  surprise  when 
she  came  into  the  living-room  a  little  later.  Her  thin, 
white  gown  was  of  an  antiquated  simplicity,  but  there 
was  about  it,  or  her,  a  distinction  that  all  Christine's 
insertion  and  embroidery  could  not  achieve.  Her  hair 
had  the  blond  shininess  of  stubble  in  the  sun.  parting 
smooth  and  straight  over  a  wide,  sunburned  forehead 
and  serene  grey  eyes;  nose  and  chin  were  roughly 
modelled,  but  the  mouth  had  been  exquisitely  and 
delicately  finished,  and  the  lips  rested  together  without 
a  tremour  of  self-consciousness  or  a  pinch  of  self-con 
cealment.  She  was  not  large,  but  a  splendid  Saxon 
strength  showed  in  her  shoulders  and  arms  and  throat. 
It  occurred  to  Amsden  as  she  came  towards  him  that 
she  would  have  made  a  magnificent  figurehead  for  a 
Viking  ship. 

''But  it  is  a  heavy  face,  beside  Ruth's,"  he  decided 
instantly. 

Her  welcome  was  courteous  but  not  especially  cor 
dial:  not  cordial  at  all,  he  decided  presently,  finding 
her  eyes  fixed  on  him  unsmilingly  as  he  looked  up 
laughing  from  some  naivete*  of  Ruth's.  He  felt  that 
he  was  being  "lumped,"  as  he  expressed  it,  with  Wal 
lace  and  Christine  O'Hara,  and  coolly  resolved  that  if 
Ellen  had  not  discernment  to  recognize  the  difference, 
he  would  not  help  her  out.  The  others  had  never 
known  him  "so  nice  and  jolly"  as  he  was  at  that  first 
supper.  Yet  what  Wallace  had  said  was  true:  Ellen 
Chantry's  presence  spread  an  impalpable  constraint. 
Christine  laughed  artificially,  was  defiant  in  her  little 

22 


DR.    ELLEN 

arts  and  graces,  over-pouting  and  over-gleeful.  Ruth's 
gaiety  was  robbed  of  its  shine,  and  Amsden,  feeling  a 
subdued  apprehension  in  her,  realized  that  she  was 
instinctively  trying  to  act  as  a  screen  between  her 
friends  and  her  sister's  judgment.  The  dimming  of 
her  spirits  angered  him.  What  right  had  this  calm, 
blond  woman  to  dominate  a  tableful  of  independent 
beings!  He  devoted  himself  exclusively  to  Ruth  until 
the  light  was  relit. 

If  Ellen  depressed  them,  it  was  quite  evident  that 
something  depressed  her.  She  took  part  —  very  simply 
and  pleasantly,  it  must  be  admitted  —  when  she  had 
to,  but  seemed  relieved  when  they  left  her  to  eat  her 
supper  in  peace.  It  was  an  exceedingly  good  supper. 
Wallace  watched  Ying  bear  away  the  empty  dishes 
with  a  sigh  of  contentment. 

"I  wish  Ying  could  give  Mrs.  Dorn  a  lesson  or  two 
in  cooking,"  he  said.  "She  means  awfully  well  — 
but  when  she  fries  chops,  she  fries  them  for  keeps :  you 
could  shingle  the  roof  with  them.  And  I'm  sure 
she  makes  her  hot  cakes  out  of  Rory's  saddle 
blankets." 

"Rory?"  queried  Amsden. 

"Yes,  Rory  Dorn:  her  mother  named  her  Aurora," 
Wallace  explained.  "She  thought  it  went  so  lovely 
with  Dorn." 

"She  breaks  horses  for  her  living,"  Ruth  added. 
"She  is  great  fun,  the  only  real  companion  I  have  up 
here." 

"I  met  a  strange  character  on  the  stage  to-night," 

23 


DR.    ELLEN 

said  Amsden,  "a  preacher  of  some  sort:  queer,  lanky 
chap,  but  very  likeable." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gilfillan;"  Ellen  turned  to  him  with  real 
interest.  "He  is  a  fine  man.  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  done  without  him  this  past  year."  Chris 
tine  O'Hara  had  looked  up  with  compressed  lips. 

"I  hope  to  see  him  again,"  Amsden  went  on.  "We 
had  begun  an  interesting  discussion  —  the  rights  of  the 
missionary  spirit  over  family  obligations.  We  did  not 
agree  in  the  least,  but  I  liked  him."  His  tone  was 
wholly  without  personal  intention,  and  his  eyes  met 
Ellen's  with  no  faintest  acknowledgment  of  a  coming 
struggle.  Yet  his  heart  had  a  quickened  beat  as  he 
dropped  sugar  in  his  coffee. 

"Well,  I  think  one's  family  ought  to  count  before 
everything,"  Christine  began  defiantly,  but  lost  courage 
in  the  ensuing  pause  and  jumped  up.  "I  have  sworn 
off  on  coffee,"  she  exclaimed.  "Let's  have  some 
music."  She  opened  the  piano,  and  began  to  play 
with  dashing  inaccuracy.  Catching  Ruth's  eye,  she 
signalled  her  to  follow,  and  under  cover  of  a  rattling 
march,  demanded: 

"Who  is  this  Mr.  Gilfillan?" 

"  Oh,  a  broken-down  minister  —  Methodist  or  Bap 
tist,  or  some  such  queer  kind.  He  came  to  Gallop  for 
his  health  last  fall,  and  now  he  is  as  daffy  about  the 
mountain  people  as  Ellen  is.  He  saves  their  souls  or 
mends  their  roofs,  just  as  it  happens.  He  takes  it  very 
seriously,  you  know  —  comes  up  to  ' consult'  with 
Ellen  about  twice  a  day." 

24 


DR.    ELLEN 

Christine  looked  skeptical.  "  Perhaps  they're  in 
love,"  she  suggested. 

"Chris- tine!  He  says  'ain't'  and  ' tasty/  and  he 
wears  a  beard  —  a  little  beard  under  his  chin!" 

"Oh!"  It  was  a  note  of  apology,  but  Christine's 
eyes  were  still  speculative. 

"How  old  a  man  is  he?"  she  asked  presently. 

"I  don't  know  — forty,  fifty;"  Ruth's  tone  was 
thoroughly  indifferent. 

"Well,  I  should  like  to  know  why  she  stays,  just  the 
same,"  said  Christine,  as  Wallace  joined  them,  leaving 
Amsden  alone  at  the  table  with  Ellen  Chantry. 

"Don't  wait  for  me.  I  always  linger  over  my 
coffee,"  she  said  with  calm  and  courteous  indifference. 
Amsden  felt  a  flash  of  resentment.  Why  should  she 
assume  that  he  had  nothing  whatever  to  give  her? 
Was  it  because  he  came  as  Ruth's  friend?  Oh,  she 
was  superior,  abominably  so.  He  had  no  feeling  on 
his  own  account,  knowing  that  he  could  prove  his 
value  if  he  cared  to;  his  resentment  was  all  for  the 
slight  to  Ruth  —  dear,  fine  and  sensitive  spirit,  whom 
this  woman  of  coarser  fibre  could  not  possibly  appre 
ciate.  Some  of  the  ancient  stubbornness  of  his  New 
England  forebears  showed  in  his  grave  and  scholarly 
face  as  he  settled  more  firmly  in  his  chair.  To  Ruth 
Chantry,  over  by  the  piano,  a  sense  of  his  strength 
came  at  that  minute  like  a  shock  of  pain.  She  could 
have  fallen  on  her  knees  by  his  chair,  crying  out,  "  Be 
kind  to  me!  Never  be  angry  with  me!"  His  eye 
glasses,  the  firmly  shut,  reserved  mouth,  the  lines  of 

25 


DR.    ELLEN 

his  coat  on  his  lean,  muscular  shoulders,  were  suddenly 
become  precious,  endowed  with  an  appeal  no  one  could 
miss.  She  glanced  with  quick  jealousy  at  Ellen,  but 
was  reassured  by  her  evident  absorption  in  her  coffee 
and  her  thoughts. 

Amsden  presently  broke  in  on  this  absorption. 

"It  has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  know  your  sister, 
Mrs.  Roderick,"  he  said  in  the  tone  of  6ne  who  expects 
cordial  assent.  "She  is  a  very  unusual  girl."  There 
was  a  hint  of  surprise  in  Ellen's  face,  quickly  banished. 

"I  think  she  is  a  very  pretty  girl,"  she  said  assent- 
ingly. 

"She  is  so  alive,  so  joyous,"  he  went  on.  "Most  of 
us  have  the  spirit  civilized  out  of  us  —  there  is  some 
thing  primeval  in  her  capacity  for  happiness.  It 
makes  one  long  to  give  her  everything  she  wants." 

"That  is  scarcely  the  way  to  keep  people  happy,  is 
it?"  Ellen  asked  after  a  slight  pause. 

"  Oh,  life  denies  us  so  much;  I  don't  believe  we  need 
to  deny  and  discipline  each  other  especially,  do  you?" 

"I  suppose  we  are  sometimes  the  instruments  through 
which  life  does  its  disciplining,  the  whip  with  which  it 
beats  its  victim,"  she  suggested,  a  hint  of  resentment 
in  her  voice,  to  Amsden's  secret  satisfaction. 

"Isn't  that  rather  a  dangerous  doctrine?"  he  asked. 
"It  would  be  a  selfish  person's  excuse  for  riding  over 
another,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Possibly  —  if  you  take  it  that  way,"  she  answered, 
with  a  faint  shrug.  "General  doctrines  have  to  be 
fitted  to  the  weakest  link  in  the  chain;  but  the  stronger 

26 


DR.    ELLEN 

can  have  their  mental  reservations,  I  suppose  —  we 
can  trust  ourselves  with  dangerous  creeds." 

"Yes,  if  we  are  willing  and  able  to  justify  them. 
When  we  are  a  law  unto  ourselves,  we  lay  ourselves 
open  to  challenge."  Amsden  looked  squarely  into  her 
eyes.  "Don't  you  agree  with  me?" 

Her  serene  face  was  impenetrable.  "No,  I  don't 
think  I  do,"  she  said.  "The  challenge  would  have  to 
come  from  a  very  high  authority  before  I,  for  one, 
would—" 

"Ellen!  Don't  you  hear  the  telephone?"  Ruth's 
voice  broke  in  impatiently,  to  Amsden's  disappoint 
ment.  He  was  keenly  enjoying  the  encounter.  Mrs. 
Roderick  left  the  room  and  her  voice  could  be  heard 
through  the  door,  direct  and  business-like.  In  a  few 
moments  she  came  back  to  say  good-night. 

"I  am  called  out,"  she  explained. 

"Oh,  don't  go,"  said  Wallace,  good-naturedly. 
"Say  you  have  a  patient  here  and  can't  leave." 
Amsden  had  risen. 

"  It  is  so  very  dark  —  isn't  there  some  way  in  which 
I  can  go  with  you  ?"  he  asked,  honestly  concerned. 

"Oh,  I  am  used  to  it,"  she  said  indifferently.  Her 
fingers  were  already  at  her  belt  buckle  as  she  left  the 
room. 

"Ellen  really  likes  going  about;  she  would  rather  do 
that  than  be  frivolous  with  us,"  Ruth  assured  him. 
"Besides,  she  is  blue  to-night.  She  has  just  lost  a 
patient,  some  child  she  was  treating;  that  always 
upsets  her." 

27 


DR.    ELLEN 

Presently  they  heard  the  bang  of  the  barn  door  and 
a  horse's  tread  under  the  window.  Christine  O'Hara 
sprang  up  from  the  piano  stool. 

"Now  let's  have  some  fun,"  she  exclaimed. 


28 


IV 

RUTH  came  down  the  stairs  the  next  morning  sing 
ing,  though  the  song  stopped  when  she  saw  Ellen  at 
the  breakfast  table  below.  Ellen  looked  up  pleasantly. 

"Did  you  sleep?"  she  asked  with  a  keen  glance  at 
her  sister's  face. 

"Of  course.    Why  not?" 

"I  didn't  know  but  that  so  much  company  would 
be  too  stimulating,"  said  Ellen,  pacifically,  pouring  out 
her  coffee. 

"I  am  not  so  childishly  excitable  as  you  always 
seem  to  think;"  Ruth  spoke  evenly,  without  open 
resentment.  "I  enjoy  my  friends,  of  course;  anyone 
would  whose  life  was  completely  cut  off  from  them." 

"Especially  a  person  like  you,  whose  friends  are  so 
very  fond  of  her,"  assented  Ellen.  "Would  Christine 
like  her  breakfast  in  bed?" 

Ruth  unbent  a  little.  "Oh,  no;  she  is  dressing. 
What  did  you  think  of  Mr.  Amsden?"  she  added,  a 
trifle  defiantly.  Ellen  hesitated. 

"Why,  he  seemed  to  me  —  an  interesting  person 
ality,"  she  said.  "He  has  a  certain  distinction;  I 
don't  know  whether  it  is  his  mind  or  his  nice,  clean-cut 
features.  He  is  clever,  isn't  he?" 

29 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Very;  and  one  of  the  best  architects  in  the  city. 
He  is  very  good  family,  too." 

"Yes,  I  think  one  feels  that,"  Ellen  admitted.  "Is 
he  perhaps  —  a  little  conceited  ?"  Ruth's  face  clouded 
instantly. 

"I  am  sure  I  have  not  found  him  so.  But  then  I 
am  not  especially  discerning  —  I  am  glad  to  say." 

Ellen  looked  discouraged.  "Well,  you  know  him 
better  than  I,"  she  apologized,  rising.  "It  was  only 
an  impression.  I  will  tell  Ying  to  make  a  fresh  ome 
lette  for  Christine." 

Ruth,  left  alone,  stared  unseeingly  at  the  morning 
beauty  outside. 

"She  is  always  in  the  right,  and  always  patient  and 
magnanimous  —  and  I  am  always  nasty,"  she  mut 
tered.  "Oh,  I  hate  living  with  her,  I  want  to  go!" 
There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  she  blinked  them 
away  as  Ellen  came  back.  The  latter  wore  a  khaki 
skirt  that  could  be  adapted  to  cross-saddle  riding  by 
unfastening  a  row  of  buttons,  and  she  had  put  on  a 
loose  khaki  coat  over  her  white  shirt-waist.  There 
was  power,  a  rough  beauty  even,  in  her  very  lack  of 
grace  as  she  stood  pinning  a  felt  campaign  hat  over 
the  smooth  straw-shine  of  her  heavy  hair.  Ruth, 
conscious  of  it,  felt  a  pang  of  apprehension  as  she  saw 
two  masculine  figures  coming  up  the  trail.  Anyone 
must  see  that  Ellen  was  wonderful  —  oh,  why  couldn't 
the  woman  go,  if  she  was  going,  and  not  stand  there 
like  an  embodiment  of  vigour  and  simplicity,  beside 
which  others  must  inevitably  shrink  to  triviality! 

30 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Go,  go,  go,"  beat  through  her  thoughts  as  she 
leaned  back  impassively,  helpless  before  the  laws  of 
civilized  demeanour. 

"I  have  not  much  to  do  this  morning,"  said  the 
unconscious  Ellen.  "I  shall  be  back  early.  You 
needn't  bother  about  the  telephone;  I  doubt  if  any 
body  rings  up." 

"We  are  all  going  for  a  walk;"  Ruth's  tone  showed 
that  she  had  had  no  intention  of  bothering  about  the 
telephone.  The  men  were  mounting  steadily.  Ellen 
turned  to  go,  then  came  back. 

"Do  be  a  little  careful,  Ruth,"  she  urged.  "You 
know  how  done  up  you  were  when  you  came  back  from 
the  city.  I  want  you  to  be  out  of  doors  all  you  can, 
but  do  take  it  easy.  Remember  that  you  have  always 
had  more  spirit  than  strength." 

"Very  well,  I  will;"  anything  to  get  rid  of  her. 
Ellen  went  to  the  door,  then  paused. 

"They  are  coming  now,  your  visitors,"  she  said. 
"I  think  I  had  better  wait  and  say  good-morning  to 
them."  Ruth  made  no  answer.  It  seemed  to  Amsden, 
as  he  came  in,  that  her  smile  had  a  tremulous  quality. 

"Poor  little  soul,  always  'way  up  or  'way  down," 
he  thought.  Ellen's  vigorous  calm  seemed  unfeeling, 
by  contrast.  Ruth,  conscious  of  approval,  expanded 
happily,  though  she  was  dimly  aware  that  the  danger 
was  only  put  off. 

"He  has  not  discovered  her  yet,"  would  have  been 
her  thought  if  she  had  stopped  to  analyze.  She  felt  a 
glow  of  satisfaction  that  both  men,  after  speaking  to 


DR.    ELLEN 

Ellen,  came  and  dropped  down  by  her,  and  was  mag 
nanimous  enough  to  keep  her  eyes  from  her  sister,  lest 
she  should  seem  to  triumph.  The  latter  bore  her 
humiliation  with  stoic  cheerfulness,  and  even  followed 
them  across,  a  thing  Ruth  could  never  have  done. 
She  made  the  coffee  pot  her  excuse,  touching  it  experi 
mentally  with  her  palm. 

"It  couldn't  be  hotter,"  she  said.  "Won't  you  have 
a  cup  ?  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Dorn's  coffee  isn't  as  good  as 
Ying's."  They  accepted  gratefully. 

"Mrs.  Dorn's  coffee  is  no  rich,  brown,  nourishing 
drink,"  said  Wallace,  with  a  sigh.  "It  is  an  evil  black, 
and  so  strong  it  tips  the  cup  over  if  you  aren't  careful. 
She  told  me  that  she  paid  fifteen  cents  a  pound  for  it, 
and  that  it  had  a  lot  more  flavour  than  coffee  that  cost 
twice  as  much.  She's  dead  right  —  it  has." 

"Perhaps  she  concentrates  on  it  too  hard,"  Ruth 
suggested.  "You  know  she  is  a  psychic?  When 
Rory's  horses  are  too  unruly,  she  sits  at  the  window 
and  concentrates  on  them  —  and  then  Rory  always 
conquers." 

"That's  a  mother's  tender  care  with  modern  improve 
ments,"  said  Wallace. 

"Her  grandmother  would  have  sat  at  the  window  and 
prayed,"  Amsden  added.  Ellen  turned  to  him  in 
terestedly. 

"Which  method  should  you  prefer?" 

"I  think  I  should  back  Rory's  young  muscles  and 
lower  jaw.  I  saw  them  both  at  work  this  morning." 

"At  breakfast?"  queried  Ruth. 
32 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Oh,  we  breakfast  by  ourselves,"  put  in  Wallace. 
"We  get  coffee  and  mush,  then,  fifteen  minutes  later, 
the  cream  and  sugar  come  with  the  meat,  and  when 
everything  else  is  eaten,  we  get  petrified  slabs  of  toast. 
Rory  hovers  about  and  soothes  us  as  she  would  a  skit 
tish  horse.  She  patted  my  neck  yesterday — honestly." 

"What  did  you  do?"  asked  Ruth. 

"I'd  hate  to  tell  you.  Hello,  Ying.  Did  you  make 
that  omelette  for  me?"  Ying  grinned. 

"Maybe  Miss  Clistine  let  you  have  it,"  he  suggested, 
putting  a  tiny  and  perfect  omelette  at  Christine's 
place. 

"No,  she  won't!"  called  the  latter's  voice  from  the 
stairs,  and  Christine  came  rushing  down  in  farcical 
alarm.  Ellen  rose. 

"I  must  be  off,"  she  announced. 

"Why  not  come  for  a  walk  with  us?"  asked  the 
kindly  Wallace.  Ellen  hesitated  with  a  glance  to 
wards  Ruth;  but  her  eyes  were  averted,  her  lips  com 
pressed  in  a  disapproving  line. 

"No,  I  must  not  cut  work  this  morning,  I  am  afraid," 
said  Ellen.  A  few  moments  later  Amsden  saw  her 
ride  below  the  window,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  her 
serene  face  was  sad  when  she  was  alone.  He  stared 
after  her,  wondering  how  far  she  had  outgrown  that 
tragedy  of  nine  years  ago. 

"Mr.  Amsden  has  scarcely  said  a  word  this  morn 
ing,"  declared  Ruth,  a  shade  of  impatience  in  her 
voice.  "Is  he  one  of  those  silent-till-noon  per 
sons?" 

33 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  He's  a  queer  sort  of  a  duck.  I  don't  make  him  out 
so  very  well,"  said  Wallace. 

"Oh,  I  read  him  like  a  book,"  Christine  asserted. 
"What  puzzles  you?" 

Wallace  considered,  Amsden  looking  on  in  amused 
gravity. 

"Well,  when  you  see  him  from  across  the  room,  he 
looks  sort  of  stuck-up;  but  when  you  go  over  to  punch 
him  for  it,  you  find  he's  a  darned  nice  chap,  nothing 
lofty  about  him.  You  go  off  pleased  and  friendly, 
and  then,  next  time  you  glance  across,  hanged  if  he 
doesn't  look  just  as  stuck-up  as  ever!" 

Ruth  had  never  seen  Amsden  laugh  so  thoroughly; 
but  he  said  nothing. 

"What  you  see  is  just  his  glasses  and  his  cameo 
profile,  and  a  sort  of  New  England  repression  about 
him,"  Christine  explained.  "All  you  have  to  do  is  to 
stay  on  the  same  side  of  the  room  with  him.  That 
wouldn't  be  so  hard!"  she  added  with  a  glance  of 
mock  coyness  at  Amsden. 

"Wow,  Christine!"  exclaimed  Wallace.  "If  you  hit 
me  with  a  glance  like  that,  I'd  never  be  the  same  man 
again." 

"Well,  that  might  not  be  a  bad  thing,"  Christine 
returned,  a  species  of  repartee  that  gave  Wallace  un 
bounded  delight. 

The  morning  was  half  gone  before  they  started, 
pausing  first  on  the  porch  before  a  view  that  silenced 
even  Wallace  for  a  moment.  The  cabin  clung  to  a 
comparatively  open  hillside,  the  mighty  tents  of  the 

34 


DR.    ELLEN 

Sierra  towering  about  them  like  a  giant  encampment, 
encircling  a  gentle  stretch  of  vivid  green  meadow  far 
below.  To  the  south,  at  the  mouth  of  a  winding 
canon,  lay  the  town  of  Gallop,  started  by  miners,  but 
long  ago  handed  over  to  lumbermen  and  stock-raisers. 
A  trail  dropped  abruptly  from  the  cabin  to  the  stage 
road  beneath,  while  a  rough  road  wound  down  more 
gradually  towards  the  town,  half  a  mile  away.  On  the 
distant  slopes  sharp  eyes  could  see  occasional  signs  of 
human  habitation,  the  brown  dot  of  a  cabin  or  a  curl 
of  smoke. 

"  Oh,  but  it  must  be  lonely  here  in  winter,"  Amsden 
exclaimed,  thinking  only  of  those  distant  dots.  Ruth 
turned  to  him  hotly. 

''You  don't  know,  you  have  no  conception  —  there 
is  no  such  loneliness  in  the  world!"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone.    The  other  two  had  gone  on  ahead. 
"Why  don't  you  just  walk  out  of  it?" 
"What  could  I  do?    I  have  no  other  home." 
"Aren't  theO'Haras  always  begging  for  a  long  visit  ?" 
"Yes,  but — "  she  hesitated,  then  spoke  impetu 
ously,   "don't   you   see   that   that   takes   clothes?    I 
couldn't  lead  their  life  in  denim  and  flannel.    And  I 
have  no  money.     Ellen  knows  I  can't  accept  without 
clothes,  and  she  doesn't  offer  them  to  me;  and  I  won't 
ask  her.    So,  you  see,  it  is  hopeless." 

"  It  is  very  hard,"  said  Amsden,  thoughtfully.  "  Why 
can't  I  give  them  to  you?" 

She  laughed  with  suddenly  restored  gaiety.  "Will 
you?" 

35 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Of  course.  I  have  plenty  of  money.  How  many 
do  you  want?" 

"Let  me  see:  I  think  five  gowns  would  do,  and  an 
evening  cloak,  and  two  hats  —  or  three?  Could  you 
afford  three?" 

"I  think  so.  I  should  like  a  black  velvet  one  on 
your  hair.  Are  they  —  '  worn '  ?  " 

"Yes,  always.  Oh,  wouldn't  it  be  fun!"  She 
broke  into  a  little  skip. 

"Why  on  earth  shouldn't  I  give  that  child  five  hun 
dred  dollars,  if  I  want  to?"  was  Amsden's  thought  as 
he  followed.  "It  is  a  very  stupid  world."  Whatever 
Ruth's  thoughts  were,  her  hazel  eyes  were  brimming 
with  light. 

All  Gallop  seemed  to  be  out  on  the  sidewalk  this 
morning,  and  Amsden  thought  something  must  have 
happened,  until  Ruth  explained  to  him  that  this  was 
Gallop's  perennial  state.  The  main  street  of  the  little 
town  had  made  a  sincere  effort  to  present  a  civilized 
appearance.  The  half  story  was  prolonged  to  seem  a 
whole  story  by  flaring  sham  fronts,  occasional  bursts 
of  yellow  or  pea-green  paint  vied  with  whitewash  and 
blackening  pine,  and  electric  lights  of  intermittent 
habits  lighted  the  streets  by  night.  Close  by  ran  the 
swift  flood  of  Juniper  Creek,  the  logs  bobbing  at  its 
edges  offering  ceaseless  temptation  to  boys  and  terror 
to  mothers.  In  the  soft  dust  of  the  road  dogs  curled  in 
placid  sleep,  occasionally  dragging  themselves  resent 
fully  out  of  the  way  of  some  unaccommodating  cart. 
Mountain  horses  nibbled  restlessly  at  the  hitching- 

36 


DR.    ELLEN 

posts  while  their  masters  joined  the  sidewalk 
discussion. 

It  seemed  to  Amsden  that  the  rough  groups  fell  into 
silence  at  their  approach,  and  that  the  silence  was  not 
a  friendly  one;  once  he  caught  a  flash  of  open  hostility 
in  the  eyes  of  a  woman  who  turned  to  stare  at  them. 
Ruth  was  entirely  unconcerned,  and  he  tried  to  think 
it  merely  the  natural  animosity  of  the  free-born  Amer 
ican  towards  his  "betters"  —  he  used  the  word  in 
quotation  marks,  even  in  his  most  secret  thoughts. 
He  would  have  liked  nothing  better  than  to  get  on 
friendly  terms  with  these  hulking  mountaineers,  clank 
ing  their  spurs  in  and  out  of  the  general  store.  While 
Christine  and  Ruth  were  buying  striped  candy  and 
weighing  each  other,  he  paused  beside  a  man  who  was, 
oddly  enough,  buying  some  coarse  black  material  not 
unlike  crape.  The  gloomy,  handsome  face  under  a 
shock  of  black  hair  appealed  to  him. 

"This  is  a  busy  town  you  have  here,"  he  said,  lean 
ing  against  the  counter.  "About  how  many  inhabi 
tants  are  there?" 

The  man  looked  at  him,  turned  back  and  counted 
his  change,  sliding  it  deliberately  into  a  pocket,  took 
up  the  parcel,  gave  him  another  cool  look  and  walked 
away.  A  boy  lounging  near  grinned.  Amsden  felt 
the  colour  rise  as  it  had  not  in  ten  years,  and  he  started 
impetuously  after  the  man. 

"Say,  better  let  him  alone,"  interposed  the  boy, 
with  an  emphasis  that  made  Amsden  pause.  "That's 
the  father." 

37 


DR.    ELLEN 

"The  father?    What  father?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"It's  Ned  Spaulding,"  explained  the  boy,  as  though 
that  ought  to  enlighten  anybody. 

Christine  came  fluttering  across,  a  stick  of  candy  in 
each  hand. 

"What  is  it?  What  is  it?  Me  see,  too.  Is  any 
thing  happening?" 

"Nothing,  whatever,"  said  Amsden,  shortly.  "Let's 
get  out  of  this,"  he  added.  "Can't  we  go  into  the 
woods  somewhere?" 

Ruth  would  have  left  the  town  at  once,  but  Christine 
insisted  on  exploring  the  hardware  shop,  and  was  with 
difficulty  kept  out  of  the  "hotel."  It  seemed  to 
Amsden  that  they  were  meeting  hostility  on  every 
side  in  glances  and  small  rudenesses  —  the  blocking 
of  the  sidewalk,  curt  answers  to  pleasant  greetings; 
but  the  others  noticed  nothing,  and  he  tried  to  argue 
down  the  impression  as  the  effect  of  his  own  recent 
snub. 

"What  father?  What  did  he  mean?"  he  still 
wondered.  Ruth's  voice  demanded  his  attention. 

"Look,  there's  the  new  doctor,  Dr.  Pocock,"  she 
said,  nodding  to  a  sign.  "Did  you  know  that  Ellen 
has  a  rival?" 

"I  hope  he  gets  all  her  patients  away  so  that  she  has 
to  go  back  to  the  city,"  said  Christine,  joyfully,  then 
clapped  spread  fingers  over  a  scared  mouth  as  a  turn 
of  the  road  disclosed  Ellen. 

She  was  standing  beside  her  horse,  deep  in  conver 
sation  with  a  lean,  middle-aged  man  whose  floating 

38 


DR.    ELLEN 

grey  hair  and  pale  freckles  identified  him  as  Amsden's 
friend  of  the  stage-coach.  She  seemed  to  be  holding 
forth  on  some  subject,  and  now  and  then  her 
clenched  hand  came  down  sharply  on  the  saddle. 
Mr.  Gilfillan  was  listening  with  bent  head,  nodding 
gently  at  intervals.  Ellen  glanced  at  them  unseeingly 
and  paid  no  attention  to  their  greetings. 

"Well,  how  is  that  for  a  cut!"  exclaimed  Wallace 
as  they  passed  on.  Christine  O'Hara  narrowed  her 
eyes. 

"Mr.  Gilfillan  seems  to  be  an  absorbing  person," 
she  said  with  a  small  laugh. 

Amsden  glanced  back  curiously.  A  single  vehement 
sentence  had  reached  him:  "I  won't  have  Ned  Spauld- 
ing  think  I  am  afraid ! "  Obviously  this  man  Spaulding 
was  making  trouble  in  the  town  of  Gallop. 


39 


ELLEN'S  morning  had  been  a  strange  one,  with  the 
baffling  quality  of  a  bad  dream.  The  first  manifesta 
tion  had  brought  only  amusement.  Two  little  girls, 
who  usually  beamed  shyly  at  her  greeting,  and  who 
had  been  known  to  watch  for  her  passing  with  hot, 
tight  handfuls  of  drooping  wild  flowers,  met  her  cheer 
ful  " Hello!"  with  a  stiff  mutter,  their  eyes  lowered, 
their  lips  primly  set.  They  seemed  to  draw  their 
little  bodies  up  and  away  from  her,  making  a  wide 
circuit  into  the  grass  by  the  road.  The  full  realization 
of  all  this  did  not  come  to  Ellen  until  she  had  passed, 
when  she  turned  in  her  saddle  to  look  back.  They 
were  staring  after  her,  hand  in  hand,  but  at  her  friendly 
wave  they  wheeled  without  response  and  ran  down 
the  road. 

"What  has  struck  them?  Is  it  a  game?"  Ellen 
wondered. 

Her  first  visit  was  to  the  blacksmith,  a  difficult 
patient,  who  in  the  intervals  of  his  groanings  insisted 
on  having  in  his  neighbours  for  entertainment  —  not 
the  best  regimen  for  rheumatic  fever.  His  wisp  of  a 
wife  seemed  more  nervous  and  deprecating  than  usual 

40 


DR.    ELLEN 

this  morning,  though  there  were  no  visitors  to  be 
hustled  out. 

"He's  so  well,  dear  —  you'll  hardly  need  to  be 
coming  much  more,"  she  stumbled,  opening  the  sick 
room  door. 

Ellen,  after  studying  her  patient,  had  her  own  views 
on  this  subject.  She  frowned  over  unexpected  develop 
ments. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself?"  she 
demanded.  The  gentle  obstinacy  of  her  patient's  face 
gave  no  prospect  of  explanations  and  his  wife  was 
suddenly  moved  to  ransack  the  closet.  Ellen's  glance 
happened  to  fall  on  a  strange  bottle  lurking  behind  a 
newspaper.  Her  frown  deepened  as  she  picked  it  up. 

"How  does  this  come  to  be  here?  I  have  not 
prescribed  it."  Her  tone  was  imperative,  and  Mrs. 
Larsen  backed  reluctantly  from  the  closet  floor,  rising 
slowly  from  her  heels. 

"Well,  you  see,  dear,  the  other  doctor  was  doing 
such  wonders,  we  thought  we'd  have  him  just  take  a 
look,  as  you  might  say.  Two  heads  is  sometimes 
better  than  one,"  she  explained  soothingly.  "And  he 
seemed  to  think  that  bottle  would  help  the  poor  man. 
You  wouldn't  have  me  deny  him  any  chanst  of  easing 
the  pain,  dear  —  you  wouldn't,  now.  It's  done  him  a 
power  of  good." 

Ellen  stood  staring  at  the  bottle  with  compressed 
lips  until  the  silence  grew  rather  awful;  then  she  put  it 
down  and  spoke  gently,  with  clearing  forehead. 

"Come  into  the  other  room  and  we  will  talk  it 
41 


DR.    ELLEN 

over,"  she  said  reasonably.  She  seated  herself  and 
made  the  other  sit  down  while  she  talked  with  simple 
directness. 

"Now  you  know  I  can't  go  on  with  the  case  if  you 
don't  trust  me,"  she  ended.  "If  you  give  foolish  and 
harmful  medicines  when  my  back  is  turned,  don't  you 
see  how  you  undo  my  work?" 

The  woman  burst  into  weak  tears.  "  It's  him,  dear," 
she  sobbed.  "He  will  have  the  new  doctor,  and  I 
can't  refuse  him.  You've  been  awful  good  to  us,  dear, 
and  —  and  he  might  have  been  far  worse  without  you. 
I  keep  telling  him  that.  But  he  says  it  stands  to  reason 
that  a  man  doctor  knows  more  than  a  lady.  Not  that 
I'd  ever  believe  a  thing  against  you,  dear.  Whatever 
happened,  I'd  know  you  done  your  best.  We  all  make 
mistakes." 

Ellen  rose.  "I  will  come  back  any  time  you  send 
for  me,"  she  said  gravely.  "Remember  that.  Good- 
by."  She  held  out  her  hand  and  the  woman  clasped 
it  fervently,  but  her  face  showed  her  relief. 

"Good  luck  to  you,  dear,"  she  said. 

Ellen's  mood  was  bitter  as  she  mounted  her  horse. 
For  three  years  she  had  given  her  best  to  these  people, 
and  it  was  no  mean  best.  And  now  all  her  patient 
skill  availed  her  nothing  against  the  flashy  pretensions 
of  an  utter  stranger.  She  had  met  Dr.  Pocock  shortly 
after  his  arrival  several  weeks  before,  introduced  at 
the  post-office  by  a  grinning  townsman  as  "t'other 
doctor,"  and  had  felt  instant  dislike  of  his  brisk, 
rotund  person  and  ever  smiling  face,  the  short,  fat 

42 


DR.    ELLEN 

hand  ungloved  with  impetuous  zeal  to  meet  hers.  He 
was  very  well  dressed,  from  the  Gallop  standpoint, 
and  the  fact  gave  distinction  to  the  brotherly  equality 
of  his  manner.  A  pleased  group  was  clustered  about 
him  when  she  made  her  escape;  he  had  their  names 
correctly  already. 

Even  in  that  brief  meeting  he  had  made  her  —  and 
perhaps  others  —  feel  that  it  was  courtesy  to  a  woman, 
not  respect  for  a  colleague,  that  kept  his  bristling 
pompadour  uncovered.  That  he  had  taken  over  the 
case  of  the  blacksmith  without  a  word  to  her  declared 
his  professional  status,  in  her  mind.  His  object  in 
settling  here  was  clear  enough;  there  was  plenty  of 
money  to  be  made  out  of  the  lumbermen  and  ranchers 
if  one  chose  to  impose  on  their  ignorance.  It  was  not 
the  prospect  of  a  diminished  practice  that  troubled 
Ellen  now,  but  dread  of  the  humiliating  discovery  that 
skill  and  devotion  could  be  forgotten  in  the  presence 
of  a  new  and  plausible  personality. 

"Oh,  well,  the  Larsens  are  silly  idiots,  anyway," 
she  finally  dismissed  the  matter,  turning  her  horse  into 
a  rough  wood  road  —  to  his  evident  reluctance,  for, 
once  started  in  that  direction,  there  was  no  rest  until 
they  had  mounted  to  the  solitary  log  cabin  of  the 
Flannerys. 

Tranquillity  came  back  to  Ellen  as  they  zigzagged 
up  the  wall  of  the  canon.  Now  they  were  in  dense 
pine  woods,  the  small,  fine  growth  of  land  that  has 
once  been  timbered,  now  they  paused  in  a  clearing  to 
look  down  the  broad  expanse  of  the  valley  beyond,  its 

43 


DR.    ELLEN 

peaks,  a  solemn  bivouac,  cutting  sharply  into  the  deep 
blue  above,  the  smoky  violet  haze  starting  out  from 
their  shadowed  sides  as  though  it  might  presently  roll 
forth  in  an  active  cloud.  Passing  from  the  hot  sun  to 
the  shade  was  like  a  plunge  into  cold  water.  Ellen 
threw  back  her  chest  to  it  with  a  deep  breath  of  satis 
faction.  She  was  sorry  when  a  last  turn  brought  her 
to  a  dilapidated  log  cabin. 

"How  is  the  boy?"  she  asked,  swinging  herself  down 
at  the  kitchen  door  where  Mrs.  Flannery  sat  in  an 
appalling  confusion,  the  special  properties  of  kitchen, 
laundry,  and  nursery  piled  knee  deep  about  her  as  she 
serenely  rocked  and  read  a  newspaper. 

"Fine  as  a  fiddle,"  was  the  cheerful  answer.  "But 
he's  just  dropped  into  a  nap — perhaps  you'd  better  not 
be  disturbing  him?  He  don't  sleep  so  awful  good." 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to,"  said  Ellen,  unsus 
pectingly.  Mrs.  Flannery  heaved  herself  out  of  her 
rocker  and  led  the  way  into  the  adjoining  room,  where 
a  thin  little  boy  lay  in  one  corner  of  a  huge  bed,  wide 
awake,  and  looking  wistfully  towards  the  door.  Ellen 
took  the  child's  temperature,  her  hand  resting  on  his 
wrist.  She  did  not  look  satisfied. 

"Are  you  doing  everything  I  told  you  to,  Mrs. 
Flannery?"  she  asked,  and  repeated  her  instructions. 

"Every  last  thing,  doctor,"  affirmed  the  mother. 
"Sure,  I'd  know  what  you  say  is  right.  I'd  not  be 
neglecting  it." 

Ellen  returned  to  the  kitchen  and,  rinding  an  inch 
of  space  on  the  table,  wrote  a  prescription. 

44 


DR.    ELLEN 

"I  want  you  to  have  this  filled  right  away,"  she  said. 
"Shall  I  take  it  down  for  you?" 

"Oh,  no,  don't  you  bother."  Mrs.  Flannery  took 
the  paper  carefully  between  a  perspiring  thumb  and 
forefinger.  "One  of  the  boys'll  be  going  right  down. 
They'll  see  to  it." 

Ellen  repeated  her  directions  and  went  away,  feeling 
vaguely  dissatisfied.  Even  when  she  had  mounted  she 
did  not  ride  off,  but,  after  a  thoughtful  moment,  turned 
to  the  kitchen  door.  She  was  just  in  time  to  see  Mrs. 
Flannery  lift  a  lid  from  the  stove  and  drop  in  the 
unmistakable  piece  of  white  paper  she  had  been 
holding  between  thumb  and  forefinger.  There  was  a 
red  flicker,  and  she  replaced  the  lid  with  a  satisfied  nod. 

Ellen  backed  quietly  away  and  rode  off  unseen,  her 
mind  a  tumult  of  anger  and  pain  and  bewilderment. 
Why  she  had  not  turned  on  Mrs.  Flannery  and  de 
manded  an  explanation  she  could  not  tell;  perhaps 
because  under  all  her  righteous  indignation  there  was 
a  strange  clutch  of  fright.  What  did  it  mean  ?  There 
was  something  stronger  than  a  rival  skill  at  work, 
some  element  of  antagonism.  She  remembered  the 
two  little  girls  who  had  suddenly  rejected  her  friendli 
ness  that  morning.  What  had  they  heard  and  believed  ? 
She  rode  slowly  down  again,  too  troubled  to  notice  the 
beauties  of  the  way. 

Her  next  visit  led  her  to  a  white  house  on  the  out 
skirts  of  the  town,  a  prim  little  place  with  a  New  Eng 
land  flavour  about  it,  incongruous  and  even  pathetic 
in  contrast  with  the  loose  carelessness  of  its  neighbours. 

45 


DR.    ELLEN 

Ellen  dismounted  with  a  sense  of  relief,  feeling  that 
here  at  least  the  adverse  influence  must  have  failed, 
since  Miss  Finch  had  summoned  her  only  the  night 
before.  Mr.  Finch  was  overseer  of  a  distant  mine, 
and  he  had  established  —  cached,  he  called  it  —  his 
five  motherless  children  here  under  the  rigid  care  of  a 
sister  from  New  Hampshire,  with  a  special  request 
that  Ellen  should  keep  an  eye  on  them.  Little  Number 
Five's  attack  of  the  night  before  had  not  been  serious, 
and  her  call  was  more  friendly  than  professional. 

Miss  Finch  came  out  on  the  porch  to  meet  her,  and 
something  in  her  stern,  dutiful  face  made  Ellen  pause 
at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"Benjy  isn't  worse?"  she  asked  quickly.  Miss 
Finch  shook  her  head,  but  she  made  no  motion  to  open 
the  screen  door  behind  her. 

"  Dr.  Ellen,  I  ain't  one  to  beat  about  the  bush,"  she 
said,  her  voice  as  hard  as  the  hands  folded  over  her 
apron,  and  yet,  like  them,  a  little  tremulous.  "I 
don't  judge  you,  one  way  or  the  other;  though  I  do  say, 
to  let  a  little  girl  die  when  you  might  have  saved  her 
comes  pretty  close  to  murder.  However,  I  don't 
judge.  But  I'm  responsible  to  my  brother  for  these 
children,  and  I  can't  take  no  risks  with  'em.  I  can't 
feel  they're  goin'  to  be  experimented  on  and  then 
neglected.  I  do  my  duty,  and  all  I  ask  is  that  others 
do  theirs." 

Ellen,  standing  beneath  her  with  a  foot  on  the  lowest 
step,  had  grown  pale,  but  her  steady  eyes  did  not  falter. 

"What  child  have  I  allowed  to  die,  Miss  Finch?" 
46 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Spaulding's  little  girl  was  buried  yesterday  after 
noon.  They  waited  thirteen  years  before  that  child 
come,  Dr.  Ellen  —  I  guess  you  don't  know  what  that 
means!  I  met  Ned  Spaulding  to  the  grocery  store 
this  morning,  and  he  says,  'If  that  was  a  man  doctor, 
I'd  kill  him  like  a  dog,'  he  says.  I  ain't  judging  — " 

"How  senseless  —  how  unjust!"  Ellen's  eyes  were 
blazing.  "That  child  had  the  best  treatment  I  could 
give,  the  most  modern.  I  did  my  human  best.  What 
do  they  know  about  it!" 

"Well,  wasn't  you  off  gallivantin'  with  a  young  city 
feller  the  day  she  died,  so's  they  couldn't  get  you?" 

Ellen,  after  a  bewildered  instant,  remembered  that 
Wallace  had  ridden  a  mile  or  two  with  her  when  she 
started  on  her  rounds  that  day.  She  had  left  her  visit 
to  the  Spauldings  till  the  last,  not  knowing  of  the  sudden 
change  for  the  worse,  and  had  arrived  too  late.  Neither 
father  nor  mother  had  shown  any  hostility  then. 

"Oh,  it  is  all  so  wickedly  unfair,"  she  exclaimed, 
turning  away.  "I  shall  go  to  Ned  Spaulding  at  once 
and  — " 

"Dr.  Ellen,  you  better  not."  Miss  Finch  came 
down  the  steps  and  followed  her  to  the  gate.  "What's 
done  is  done,  and  you  better  keep  away  from  Spaulding 
for  a  while.  Explanations  ain't  goin'  to  help  much; 
he  just  idolized  that  child,  and  I  declare  to  you  he's 
pretty  near  off  his  head.  'Tain't  goin'  to  mend  mat 
ters  for  you  to  listen  to  him  now." 

"But  what  right  has  he  to  say  I  mismanaged  or 
neglected  that  case?  What  does  he  know?" 

47 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Well,  the  day  after  the  baby  died,  he  had  a  talk 
with  the  new  doctor,  Dr.  Pocock,  and  he  says  — " 

"Oh!"  Ellen's  mouth  shut  ominously.  "Now  I 
understand."  She  swung  herself  into  the  saddle  and 
rode  away  without  another  word,  leaving  Miss  Finch 
looking  uncertainly  after  her. 

"Well,  anyhow,  I'm  glad  there's  a  man  to  call  on 
now,"  she  decided. 

Ellen  would  have  gone  straight  to  Dr.  Pocock,  with 
no  purpose  clearer  than  a  boiling  need  to  "have  it 
out,"  if  she  had  not  encountered  the  calming  presence 
of  Mr.  Gilfillan.  He  let  her  tell  the  whole  tale  without 
interruption,  gently  nodding  his  bent  head  at  intervals. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  he  reassured  her  when  she  had 
finished.  "After  I  buried  the  little  girl  yesterday, 
Spaulding  let  it  all  out  to  me.  Poor  fellow,  he's  half 
crazy;  I  said  what  I  could,  but  I  don't  reckon  he  listened 
much,  and  he's  been  talking  all  over  town." 

"It  is  that  Pocock,"  interposed  Ellen.  "I  was  just 
going  to  him." 

"Well,  some";  he  nodded  soothingly.  "But  so  far 
as  I  can  make  out,  he  hasn't  said  anything  you  could 
take  a  hold  of.  If  I  was  you,  M'z  Roderick,  I'd  wait 
a  few  days  —  just  wait.  It  don't  do  to  go  at  things 
when  everybody's  red  hot." 

"But  to  stay  at  home  and  let  them  say  — " 

"Well,  I'll  be  here,  you  know;"  the  nondescript 
little  eyes  seldom  looked  at  her,  but  now  they  were 
raised  for  an  instant,  and  their  simple  loyalty  made  the 
long,  eccentric  face  beautiful.  "I  reckon  I  can  say 

48 


DR.    ELLEN 

it  better  than  you  could.  You  just  wait,"  he  coun 
selled. 

"I  suppose  you  are  right,"  she  admitted  reluctantly. 

"I'll  kinder  keep  an  eye  on  things,  and  report  to 
you.  Oh,  I  know  it's  hard."  His  hand  rubbed  and 
patted  the  horse's  flank,  as  though  his  sympathy  must 
express  itself  in  some  visible  form.  She  took  the 
hand  and  held  it  for  a  moment. 

"You  are  the  best  friend  anyone  ever  had,"  she 
said.  Her  eyes  were  misty  when  she  rode  away. 


49 


VI 

AT  six  that  afternoon  Amsden,  fresh  and  clean  in 
white  flannel,  leaned  on  the  window-ledge  of  his  shaky 
little  room  in  Mrs.  Dorn's  cottage,  smoking  a  cigarette 
and  amusedly  watching  Rory  in  the  yard  below.  It 
had  been  a  lazy,  out-of-doors  day,  and  he  had  left 
Ruth  an  hour  before  with  no  consciousness  of  having 
had  seven  whole  hours  of  her  company  —  as  high  a 
compliment  as  he  could  have  paid  a  girl  in  his  present 
state  of  mind.  He  was  inclined  to  exaggerate  the 
importance  of  the  fact  that  she  did  not  tire  him;  the 
memory  of  the  last  woman  he  had  known  well  was 
still  oppressively  fresh.  A  pleasant  sense  of  well-being 
was  on  him.  He  enjoyed  his  own  bodily  cleanness, 
his  quieted  nerves,  the  consciousness  of  a  good  supper 
and  a  friendly  evening  ahead.  He  was  thoroughly 
glad  that  he  had  come. 

Down  in  the  yard  Rory  had  tied  a  nervous  young 
horse  to  a  tree  and  was  cautiously  harnessing  him  into 
a  heavy  breaking  cart.  Half  of  the  colts  of  the  neigh 
bourhood  passed  through  her  dexterous  hands,  hands 
seemingly  endowed  with  something  stronger  than  mere 
will  power  and  muscle.  Amsden  wondered  at  the  way 
the  horse  quieted  under  her  touch  and  voice,  dropping 

So 


DR.    ELLEN 

from  paroxysms  of  rebellion  to  trembling  meekness. 
Evidently  he  was  new  to  the  bondage  of  shafts,  for 
every  time  they  touched  his  restless  flanks  he  plunged 
wildly. 

"Rory,  come  in  to  your  supper, "  called  the  voice  of 
Mrs.  Dorn  from  within. 

"I  can't  leave.  Bring  me  some  out  here,"  Rory 
called  back.  They  always  addressed  each  other  in 
the  shout  of  command,  but  were  the  best  possible 
friends.  There  was  a  voluble  protest,  broken  by  an 
abrupt,  — 

"Oh,  quit  jawin',  Mama,  I'm  hungry;"  and  pres 
ently  Mrs.  Dorn  appeared  carrying  a  tray,  which  she 
set  down  on  the  well- curb  with  a  threatening  — 

"You'll  ruin  your  stomach,  Rory  Dorn.  Why  don't 
you  let  the  beast  go  and  eat  your  meals  like  a  Chris 
tian?" 

"He's  a  wild  one,"  said  Rory,  biting  into  a  doughnut. 
"You'll  have  to  concentrate  good  and  plenty  on  him, 
Mama,  the  first  time  I  take  him  out."  There  was  dry 
humour  in  her  tone. 

"Oh,  you  can  pull  fun;  but  you'd  never  be  alive 
this  day  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me,"  protested  the  mother. 

"And  that's  true  enough,"  said  Rory,  gravely. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  admit  it,"  grumbled  Mrs.  Dorn 
unsuspectingly  as  she  turned  away.  Rory  grinned, 
but  said  nothing. 

The  girl  perched  herself  on  the  well- curb  and  talked 
soothingly  to  her  charge  as  she  ate,  occasionally  spring 
ing  up  to  go  to  his  head.  She  was  a  graceful  little 

S1 


DR.    ELLEN 

person  with  a  mass  of  chestnut  hair,  and  a  small, 
shrewd  face  that  would  have  been  pretty  but  for  a 
slight  aggressiveness  expressed  in  the  lower  jaw.  She 
had  a  slangy  way  of  using  her  slim,  hard  hands,  and  a 
hobgoblin  grin  that  were  the  joy  of  Wallace's  life. 

"How  soon  shall  you  be  driving  him?"  asked 
Amsden  from  above.  She  looked  up  and  greeted  him 
with  a  friendly  wave  of  the  mutton  chop  in  her  right 
hand. 

"Oh,  three  or  four  days,"  she  said. 

"You  won't  go  alone,  surely?" 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Rory,  thoughtfully.  "If  anyone 
was  fool  enough  to  go  with  me,  they'd  be  too  big  a 
fool  to  be  much  help,  d'you  see?"  Amsden  laughed. 

"Shall  I  come  behind  and  pick  up  the  pieces?" 

"Indeed,  the  pieces  wouldn't  be  much  use  to  me. 
You  can  leave  them  lie." 

"Your  friends  might  like  them  as  souvenirs." 

Rory  flung  the  remains  of  her  chop  neatly  in  the 
path  of  a  prowling  cat,  who  started  violently  and 
galloped  off,  tail  streaming  askew. 

"Old  fool  —  that  was  a  present,  not  a  brickbat," 
she  commented.  "I've  not  the  luck  with  cats  I  have 
with  horses;  they  always  misunderstand  me.  Steady, 
boy,  steady!  What  ails  you,  now?  Friends?"  she 
added,  looking  up  at  Amsden.  "I  haven't  got  one." 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  I  ride  about  now  and  again  with  Ruth 
Chantry;  she's  a  nice  little  thing,  though  she  don't 
know  much.  There's  not  another  girl  here  that  I'd 

S2 


DR.    ELLEN 

bother  my  head  about  except  Dr.  Ellen;  and  she  has 
no  time  to  throw  away  on  me." 

"But  how  about  men?" 

Rory  with  two  expressive  hands  pushed  away  the 
idea,  her  face  averted,  her  nose  crinkled. 

"  Now  Heaven  deliver  me !    I've  no  use  for  the  men." 

"But  why  not?" 

She  wagged  her  head.  "Naw,  naw.  Not  for  me. 
I'd  like  to  see  them  abolished." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  Wallace's  head,  wet  and  glistening, 
appeared  at  the  next  window.  "Abolish  us?  Oh, 
now,  Rory,  you'd  be  the  first  to  call  us  back." 

"If  you  took  the  horses  with  you;  not  otherwise." 

"World  without  men,  ah  me!"  Wallace  chanted, 
unconcernedly  plying  two  hair  brushes.  He  was  coat- 
less,  and  his  full-moon  face  above  his  fresh  white 
linen  looked  pleasantly  pink  and  ten  years  younger 
than  it  was.  Rory  eyed  him  ironically. 

"That's  my  idea  of  Heaven,"  she  retorted. 

"Oh,  come  off!  Why  are  you  so  down  on  us, 
anyway?"  She  considered,  with  a  dawning  grin. 

"Because  you're  such  fools  about  us  —  if  you  must 
have  it." 

"Wow  —  help!  I'm  no  fool  about  girls,  Rory  — 
honestly." 

"There's  time  yet,"  was  the  dubious  answer.  "But 
you're  making  the  colt  nervous  with  all  this  talking. 
I  must  have  quiet  in  my  schoolroom!"  She  began  to 
take  off  the  harness  with  soothing  words  and  strokings, 
and  Amsden's  suggestion  that  it  was  nearly  supper 

53 


DR.    ELLEN 

time  made  Wallace  withdraw.  When  they  passed 
through  the  yard  a  few  moments  later,  there  was  no 
one  in  sight  but  the  cat,  creeping  back  upon  the  bone 
with  the  stealthy  triumph  of  one  who  outwits  the  enemy. 

Ellen  Chantry  had  not  appeared  that  afternoon, 
except  once  in  distant  outline,  mending  the  shed 
roof. 

"  Something  has  gone  wrong,"  Ruth  had  surmised, 
as  the  sound  of  echoing  blows  reached  them,  and  Ams- 
den  wondered  anew  at  the  incidents  of  the  morning. 
She  was  seated  by  the  fireplace  when  they  reached  the 
cabin,  looking  gentle  and  feminine  in  her  antiquated 
white  lawn;  it  was  only  when  she  came  to  meet  a 
difficulty  that  Amsden  saw  his  figurehead  for  a  Viking 
ship.  He  took  a  low  seat  beside  her  in  the  glow  of  the 
newly  lighted  fire,  which  was  snapping  excitedly,  its 
foundation  of  twigs  still  curling  in  crimson  effigy. 
Wallace  wandered  out  for  a  friendly  conversation  with 
Ying,  and  the  two  sat  in  silence,  Amsden  determined 
that  she  should  be  the  first  to  speak. 

Her  beginning  was  perfunctory.  "Have  you  had  a 
pleasant  day?" 

"Pleasanter  than  you  have,  I  fancy,"  he  said  quietly. 
He  was  not  going  to  be  kept  to  mere  surfaces  with  a 
person  like  Ellen  Chantry.  Superior  she  might  be, 
conceited,  selfish;  but  her  importance  was  unmistak 
able,  and  Amsden  was  impatient  for  the  struggle  that 
lay  somewhere  ahead  of  them.  The  issue  might  be 
Ruth's  captivity,  or  it  might  be  some  question  as  yet 
unraised ;  all  he  knew  was  that  he  never  saw  this  woman 

54 


DR.    ELLEN 

without  an  overwhelming  desire  to  match  his  strength 
against  hers. 

She  gave  him  a  startled  look.  "Why  do  you  say 
that?" 

"We  saw  you  down  in  the  town  this  morning  talking 
to  your  friend  the  preacher.  You  were  evidently  very 
much  disturbed." 

She  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  more.  "Is  that  all?" 
she  asked  finally. 

"Except  that  last  night  you  were  miles  away  from 
us  all,  absorbed  in  some  very  serious  thoughts.  Or 
was  it  just  that  we  bored  you?" 

"I  have  a  good  deal  on  my  mind,"  she  said  gravely, 
after  a  pause.  "To-day  my  work  has  —  troubled  me. 
Last  night  —  I  am  sorry  if  I  seemed  abstracted,  but  I 
have  a  puzzling  responsibility.  Doctors  are  apt  to 
have  problems,"  she  added  with  a  faint  smile. 

"And  does  our  being  here  complicate  them?" 

"I  did  not  know  you  and  Mr.  Wallace  were  coming 
until  the  day  he  arrived,"  she  said  inconsequently. 
"Ruth  —  did  not  think  to  speak  of  it." 

"Would  you  rather  not  have  us?"  His  tone  was 
wholly  disinterested. 

Her  eyes  searched  his  face,  then  turned  back  to  the 
fire.  She  went  on  hesitatingly,  seemingly  ignoring  his 
question. 

"Mr.  Amsden,  there  is  a  thing  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  about.  Ruth  has  been  growing  very  discontented 
with  the  life  here,  and  I  hope  you  will  try  —  I  mean, 
please  do  not  make  her  any  more  so,  if  you  can  help  it." 

55 


DR.    ELLEN 

Amsden  bent  forward  to  push  back  a  log  that  had 
rolled  down  between  the  andirons. 

"But  has  she  not  perhaps  a  right  to  discontent?" 
he  asked  presently.  "She  is  very  young,  very  alive; 
what  she  wants  may  not  seem  to  you  exalted,  but  isn't 
it,  after  all,  an  honest  necessity  to  her?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  Ellen,  coldly,  and  there  was  silence 
until  the  sound  of  an  opening  door  and  Ruth's  ecstatic 
laugh  brought  an  involuntary  smile  to  Amsden's  face. 
He  glanced  up,  to  find  Ellen's  eyes  fixed  on  him  with 
an  anxiety  that  made  him  suddenly  sorry  for  her. 

"I  am  not  going  to  trouble  you  or  to  make  anything 
harder  for  you,"  he  assured  her,  rising.  "One  can't 
help  caring  about  her  happiness,  that  is  all."  She 
stood  up,  facing  him. 

"You  are  not  in  love  with  her?" 

"Oh,  good  Lord,  no!"  His  startled  sincerity  was 
scarcely  courteous,  and  he  sent  a  glance  of  apology 
after  it,  but  she  was  smiling. 

"Then  it  is  all  right,"  she  said  enigmatically  as  the 
girls  appeared  on  the  stairs.  Ruth  looked  sharply  at 
the  two  by  the  fire,  but  they  were  evidently  glad  of  the 
chance  to  turn  away  from  each  other. 

"It  is  good  to  see  you  again,  after  this  long  separa 
tion,"  Amsden  said,  holding  out  his  hand.  She  took 
it  up  gaily. 

"Why,  you  are  not  changed  at  all!  You  look 
scarcely  an  hour  older.  I  should  have  known  you 
instantly,  anywhere." 

"Oh,  don't  say  you  have  forgotten  me!"  burst  in 
56 


DR.    ELLEN 

Christine,  with  a  histrionic  zeal  that  smothered  the 
little  comedy.  Amsden  smiled  at  her  tolerantly,  and 
dropped  Ruth's  hand. 

"I  think  we  are  all  forgetting  supper,"  Ellen  said, 
leading  the  way  to  the  table.  " Where  is  Will?" 

"I  heard  his  voice  in  the  kitchen,"  began  Christine 
as  they  took  their  places.  Then  she  gave  a  squeal  of 
laughter  that  made  them  all  turn  to  the  opening  door. 
Wallace  strode  gravely  in,  clad  in  the  stiffest  and 
whitest  of  Chinese  garments,  a  pigtail  of  black  ribbon 
dangling  down  his  back,  a  platter  held  high  in  front 
of  him. 

"You  no  come  so  late  to  supper!"  he  commanded, 
with  a  sharp  wag  of  his  head.  "Heap  too  much 
company  here  —  you  send  'em  home."  He  planted 
the  platter  before  Ellen  with  a  bang  —  Ying's  own 
gesture  on  occasions  of  displeasure.  "Supper  leady 
hour  ago  —  all  spoiled!"  he  added.  Their  laughter 
doubled  when  they  saw  Ying's  yellow  face  grinning  in 
the  doorway.  Somewhat  to  Amsden's  surprise,  Ellen 
enjoyed  it  even  more  than  the  others.  Wallace  shuffled 
out  with  so  good  an  imitation  of  Ying's  independent 
swing  —  head  tilted  back  until  the  pigtail  hung  clear 
of  his  blouse  —  that  she  had  tears  of  laughter  on  her 
cheeks.  He  came  back  with  two  covered  dishes  which 
he  planked  down  beside  the  platter. 

"You  alia  time  laugh  —  te  he!  No  good!"  he 
stormed.  "Alia  same  fool.  I  no  cook  for  you.  I  go 
to-night.  You  get  'nother  boy!"  With  which  he 
dropped  into  his  own  place  and  beamed  round  the 

57 


DR.    ELLEN 

table.  "Wouldn't  I  make  a  pretty  good  chink ?"  he 
demanded.  "  Ying,  I've  got  you  pushed  off  the  earth." 
Ying  had  come  in  with  a  dish,  grinning  sheepishly,  and 
departed  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"How  you  dared  do  it!"  Ruth  exclaimed.  "He 
might  have  been  furious." 

"Oh,  we're  great  pals,  Ying  and  I.  He  didn't 
mind."  Wallace's  easy  good  nature  expected  —  and 
generally  brought  forth  —  the  same  quality  in  others. 
"People  don't  get  mad  as  easy  as  people  think,"  he 
added  confidently  out  of  his  experience. 

"I'd  like  to  know  how  you  got  that  particular  black 
ribbon,"  Christine  interposed  with  a  scrutinizing  eye 
on  his  pigtail.  He  chuckled. 

"I'll  never  tell." 

"Well,  you  will  find  people  do  get  mad,  if  you  are 
not  careful.  Did  you  take  it  off  that  hat  in  the  hall?" 

"I'll  put  it  back,  Christine,  honestly,  just  the  way  it 
was  before.  I  know  exactly  how  the  bows  went." 

"If  you  aren't  the  worst!"  was  her  pouting  comment. 
"  Very  well,  then,  you  shall  retrim  it." 

After  supper  they  brought  a  work-basket  and  the 
denuded  hat  and  prepared  to  enjoy  his  struggles;  but 
he  insisted  on  retreating  to  the  kitchen  with  the  ma 
terials  and  being  left  alone. 

"You  will  make  me  nervous,  looking,"  he  protested. 

They  found  themselves  rather  quiet  without  him  — 
dull,  was  Christine's  version  as  she  sought  solace  at 
the  piano.  Ruth  looked  at  Amsden  with  happy  ex 
pectancy,  much  as  his  little  nieces  did  when  he  came 

$8 


DR.    ELLEN 

in  with  pleasant  possibilities  in  his  pockets.  Response 
was  not  easy,  for  he  was  wondering  with  growing 
irritation  why  Ellen  Chantry  had  been  delighted  to 
learn  that  he  was  not  in  love  with  her  sister.  Discrim 
ination  against  him  as  a  husband  would  be  childish; 
he  had  a  presentable  physique,  a  fair  income,  a  sound 
preference  for  decency.  The  less  unflattering  expla 
nation,  that  she  was  anxious  to  keep  Ruth  single, 
seemed  a  little  too  selfish  to  be  plausible  —  "even  of  a 
missionary,"  he  added.  Ellen  had  seated  herself  under 
the  lamp  with  a  book,  calmly  aloof:  "Amuse  your 
selves,  young  people,  but  don't  disturb  me,"  Amsden 
read  into  the  action.  Good  heavens,  the  woman  was 
only  thirty  or  thirty- one,  several  years  younger  than 
himself.  Could  nothing  reach  her  consciousness 
through  that  lacquered  shell  of  superiority? 

"You  look  so  stern,"  Ruth  complained  from  a  nest 
of  cushions.  "I'm  frightened  to  death."  He  dropped 
down  beside  her  on  the  couch  without  abating  his 
gravity. 

"And  so  you  should  be.  Little  girls  ought  always 
to  fear  their  elders." 

"Do  you  know  how  old  I  am?"  Her  tone  was 
indignant. 

"Yes;  you  are  going  on  ten.  Nell  and  Poppy  are 
eight  and  six,  but  I  think  you  would  like  them.  I 
will  bring  them  to  play  with  you  some  day." 

"Ah  —  your  little  grandchildren ? ' '  Amsden's  laugh 
admitted  that  she  "had  him." 

"I  wish  they  were,"  he  added. 
59 


DR.    ELLEN 

"But  you  don't  wish  you  were  a  grandfather!" 

"Why  not?  It  looks  like  a  peaceful  and  happy 
state,  to  me.  And  I  should  not  be  an  unpleasant  old 
man,  with  spots  on  my  clothes  and  bad  table  manners, 
like  so  many  of  them ;  I  shall  make  a  point  of  becoming 
a  neat  and  well-behaved  grandfather." 

"But  you  would  miss  the  very  best  of  it."  Ruth 
was  excitedly  earnest.  "Why,  everything  is  ahead  of 
you  now  —  don't  you  see  ?  The  next  ten  years  are  all 
that  I  care  about.  After  that,  I'd  as  lief  die  as  soon 
as  possible.  Or  even  live  up  here,"  she  added,  the 
light  leaving  her  face. 

"You  want  it  so  much  —  I  wish  you  could  have  it, 
instead  of  me;"  his  voice  was  quick  with  sympathy. 
"I  would  gladly  give  you  my  share." 

"  You  mean  —  of  town  ?  " 

"Town  life  and  social  things  and  opportunities  for 
marriage,"  he  said  boldly.  "I  would  let  you  have 
them  all,  freely,  if  I  could  keep  my  work." 

Ruth's  eyes  were  on  her  fingers,  busily  braiding  the 
fringe  of  a  steamer  rug  into  tight  pigtails. 

"But  don't  these  things  mean  anything  to  you?" 
she  asked  with  an  evident  effort. 

"Very  little.  But  perhaps  that  is  just  because  I  am 
ignorant  and  narrow.  I  have  thought  of  very  little 
but  putting  up  buildings  for  the  past  three  years." 

"And  before  that?" 

"Before  that  I  was  engaged  to  be  married." 

Ruth  drew  a  quick  breath.  "It  was  broken?"  she 
asked  in  a  hushed  voice. 

60 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Oh,  yes  —  wisely  for  both  of  us;"  his  tone  was 
cheerfully  matter-of-fact.  "But  it  took  some  of  the 
glamour  off  the  possibilities,  you  see."  She  looked 
relieved. 

"It  made  you  ready  to  skip  a  few  courses  and  go 
on  to  salad,"  she  suggested. 

"What  is  that  about  salad?"  Christine  broke  in, 
leaving  the  piano.  "Are  you  planning  a  picnic?" 

"Let's,"  said  Ruth.  "Why  can't  we  go  off  on  one 
to-morrow?  We  do  picnics  beautifully,  Mr.  Amsden 
—  not  a  bit  like  other  people's." 

"But  I  like  picnics,  anyway,"  he  protested.  "Food 
is  so  good  when  it  is  relieved  from  table  manners.  I'd 
rather  lie  on  the  ground  with  a  chicken  leg  in  one 
hand,  a  jelly  glass  of  beer  in  the  other,  than  go  to  the 
grandest  dinner  ever  served." 

"And  yet  you  plan  to  be  a  refined  and  tidy  grand 
father,"  Ruth  reminded  him  in  a  quick  aside,  and 
they  smiled  at  each  other. 

"There  are  both  drumsticks  and  beer  in  the  house," 
said  Ellen,  who  had  looked  up  from  her  book.  "I 
will  tell  Ying  to  make  you  some  sandwiches,  if  you 
like." 

"Why  don't  you  come,  too?"  asked  Amsden,  out 
wardly  amiable.  "A  day  with  the  children  will  do 
you  good."  Ellen  hesitated,  glancing  at  the  others, 
who  apparently  had  not  heard,  as  they  were  talking 
together. 

"I  should  really  like  to  come,"  she  said  simply. 
"Ruth,  may  I  go  on  your  picnic  to-morrow?" 

61 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Why,  of  course,"  was  the  neutral  answer.  "We 
must  tell  Will.  Do  you  suppose  he  is  still  struggling 
with  that  hat?  There  he  is,"  she  added  as  the  door 
opened. 

Wallace  had  returned  to  his  own  clothes,  and  he 
held  the  hat  up  proudly  for  inspection.  The  ribbon 
had  been  replaced  with  surprising  dexterity,  but  he 
had  not  stopped  at  that;  a  bright  red  apple  rested 
against  the  crown,  and  from  a  bunch  of  parsley  oppo 
site,  a  tooth-brush  rose  stiffly  like  an  aigrette,  while  a 
cluster  of  tiny  carrots  drooped  under  the  brim,  which 
was  caught  up  on  one  side  with  a  sponge.  The  orna 
ments  had  been  put  on  with  ludicrous  skill;  the  hat 
really  possessed  an  air. 

"Ladies,  I  zell  you  zis  loafly  hat  for  von  tollar 
ninety-eight  zents.  You  vill  not  find  any  hat  like  it 
for  der  zame  money,  nor  for  any  oder  money.  It  is 
a  pargain!  Notize  der — " 

"Oh,  Will,  stop!"  implored  Christine,  hysterically. 

"I  can't  laugh  any  more,"  gasped  Ruth.  "Try  it 
on,  Christine  —  oh,  heavenly!  Will,  what  would  it 
take  to  keep  you  all  the  year  round?" 

"A  rich  wife,  I  guess,"  said  Wallace,  beaming  frankly 
at  his  success.  Ruth  looked  startled  at  this  interpre 
tation  of  her  question,  then  sighed  regretfully. 

"That  cuts  me  out,"  she  said.     "I  haven't  a  cent." 

"I  have,"  suggested  Christine,  with  a  very  avalanche 
of  meaning.  Wallace  looked  inquiringly  at  Ellen. 

"Any  more  offers?  No?  Well,  Christine,  you  get 
the  prize.  This  does  not  imply  any  lack  of  merit  in 

62 


DR.    ELLEN 

the  other  competitors;  but  where  only  one  may  be 
chosen — "  he  broke  off  and  stared  at  her  reflectively; 
Christine  looked  very  pretty  at  that  moment,  with 
candle-light  shining  through  her  little  frame  of  light 
red  curls.  "I  don't  know  but  what  it  might  be  rather 
a  good  idea,"  he  said,  in  frank  surprise. 

Christine  flouted  and  laughed  at  him.  But  late  that 
evening,  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own  room,  she  stared 
critically  into  the  mirror  with  a  candle  held  close  to 
her  throat.  Not  that  it  was  yet  a  question  of  obvious 
hollows;  but  Time  had  undeniably  chucked  her  under 
the  chin  and  left  two  finger  marks. 

"After  all,  I'm  twenty- nine,"  she  mused. 


VII 

"  YING  has  made  us  enough  sandwiches  for  an  army," 
Ellen  said,  rising  from  the  breakfast  table  as  the  two 
girls  came  down  the  next  morning.  "I  will  go  and 
pack  them.  We  couldn't  have  a  more  perfect  day  to 
picnic." 

"It  may  be  rather  warm,"  Ruth  objected. 

"Not  up  the  canon.  Or  are  we  going  to  Lone 
Cedar?" 

"Oh,  anywhere,"  was  the  listless  answer. 

As  Ellen  went  out  with  her  strong,  assured  step, 
Ruth's  eyes  met  Christine's,  then  fell  away  guiltily. 
They  sat  down  in  silence. 

"How  is  it  that  she  can  leave  her  patients  for  a 
whole  day?"  Christine  asked  presently,  in  a  carefully 
meaningless  tone. 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know."  Their  eyes  met  again, 
and  then  Ruth  let  an  unwilling  laugh  escape.  "  Chris 
tine,  we  are  hateful,"  she  admitted. 

"If  there  were  another  man,  it  wouldn't  make  so 
much  difference,"  Christine  said,  relieved  at  this  invi 
tation  to  frankness,  but  availing  herself  of  it  with 
caution.  "Wouldn't  Mr.  Gilfillan  do?" 

"Mercy,  no;  we  couldn't  have  him.  I  dare  say  he 
64 


DR.    ELLEN 

eats  with  his  knife.  Our  only  hope  is  in  a  patient's 
sending  for  her." 

"We  might  bribe  some  small  boy  to  fall  ill.  Aren't 
people  different,  Ruth!  If  I  saw  a  nice  little  square 
party  all  arranged,  I  shouldn't  want  to  come  along  as 
fifth  — should  you?" 

"  Nothing  could  hire  me.  But  Ellen  doesn't  think 
of  things  like  that  much.  You  know,  Christine,  she  is 
really  a  great  deal  nicer  than  we  are!" 

"  I  dare  say.  But  no  one  likes  her  any  better  for  it. 
Wouldn't  you  rather  be  human  and  popular,  like 
us?" 

"I  don't  know;"  Ruth  spoke  worriedly.  "I  hate 
myself  a  good  deal  of  the  time.  I  can't  live  up  to 
Ellen's  standards  but  I  can't  quite  ignore  them,  and 
they  keep  me  uncomfortable.  I  wish  I  could  live  with 
some  one  who  —  who  —  well,  a  little  horrider  than  I 
am.  You,  for  instance." 

"Thanks!  But  this  isn't  doing  anything  about  our 
picnic." 

"But  can  we  do  anything?" 

"I  don't  know.    We  might." 

They  fell  into  depressed  silence.  Presently  Ruth 
rose  and  carried  the  fruit  out  to  the  pantry,  where  Ellen 
was  packing  sandwiches  into  a  pasteboard  box. 

"We  might  as  well  take  some  of  these  peaches," 
Ruth  said.  "They  will  go  in  the  other  knapsack,  on 
top  of  the  beer."  Her  heart  was  beating  nervously 
with  some  unacknowledged  purpose.  "I  will  wrap 
them  in  paper.  How  many?" 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Why,  five,  don't  you  think?" 

"You  are  really  going,  then?" 

Ellen's  hands  paused  and  she  looked  up,  but  Ruth 
was  carefully  rolling  a  peach  in  tissue  paper,  and  did 
not  meet  her  eyes. 

"Why,  I  thought  I  would,"  she  said  slowly.  "I 
haven't  had  a  day  off  for  a  long  time."  Ruth  took  up 
a  second  peach  in  silence;  Ellen  waited  a  moment,  then 
spoke  with  a  touch  of  sharpness;  "Would  you  rather 
I  did  not  go,  Ruth  ?  You  have  only  to  say  so." 

"Why,  not  at  all."  Ruth  laid  her  peaches  in  the 
knapsack  with  exaggerated  care.  "Why  should  I? 
I  don't  think  you  will  have  a  wildly  exciting  time, 
three  girls  and  two  men  always  make  an  awkward 
combination.  But  if  you  don't  mind  that  —  Oh,  dear, 
these  things  are  going  to  get  jammed.  I  must  put  in 
some  cardboard." 

Ellen  stood  very  still,  her  hands  resting  on  the  table. 
When  she  spoke,  a  moment  later,  her  voice  was  clear 
and  quiet  as  usual. 

"I  think,  on  the  whole,  I  do  mind  that.  I  believe 
I  will  back  out." 

"Don't  unless  you  really  mean  it,"  Ruth  urged 
hurriedly.  "You  know  Will  likes  you  immensely  — 
he  always  says  so.  And  Mr.  Amsden  is  always  nice 
and  friendly.  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  have  a 
very  good  time,  Ellen."  Her  face  had  suddenly 
flushed. 

"No;  on  second  thoughts,  if  I  can't  have  a  man 
exclusively  to  myself,  I  doubt  if  I  should  enjoy  it." 

66 


DR.    ELLEN 

If  Ellen  was  sarcastic,  there  was  nothing  in  her  face  or 
voice  to  betray  it  as  she  turned  away.  "I  had  not 
taken  everything  into  consideration." 

"Well,  it  is  just  as  you  like,"  Ruth  said  with  urgent 
cordiality.  "We  should  love  to  have  you,  you  know. 
I  suppose,  of  course,  there  is  danger  that  you  might  be 
called  to  some  patient." 

"True,"  Ellen  assented,  and  the  door  swung  after 
her.  Ruth  finished  packing  the  two  knapsacks  with 
hands  that  trembled  visibly.  As  she  gathered  them 
up,  tears  started  to  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  were  good,  I  wish  I  were  different," 
she  whispered  miserably.  She  could  have  flung  her 
arms  about  Ellen  and  begged  her  to  come.  "And  yet 
if  she  did  I'd  be  crosser  than  ever,"  she  acknowledged. 
"I  can't  help  it,  I  can't!  If  I  only  could  go  away  from 
her!"  She  did  not  return  to  Christine  until  she  heard 
masculine  voices  on  the  porch.  Then  she  announced 
Ellen's  defection  curtly,  presenting  a  resentful  blank- 
ness  to  Christine's  glance  of  gleeful  congratulation. 

It  was  not  to  be  a  strenuous  day.  Lone  Cedar  lay 
two  miles  to  the  north,  with  only  one  difficult  canon 
to  cross  if  they  kept  to  the  ridge  back  of  the  house. 
Wallace  in  the  gaiety  of  his  heart  mounted  his  stick 
and  galloped  off  up  the  trail,  and  Christine  cantered 
after  him,  discreetly  side-saddle  on  hers.  Amsden  felt 
the  exhilaration  of  the  morning  as  keenly  as  they, 
though  his  only  outer  admission  of  it  was  in  the  strong 
thrust  of  his  hands  into  his  coat  pockets,  his  alert, 
contented  eyes  and  lips  drawn  to  a  soundless  whistle. 


DR.    ELLEN 

Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  if  he  could  have 
taken  a  little  of  it  out  in  capering;  that  might  have  left 
him  less  sympathetically  conscious  of  Ruth's  dejection 
as  she  plodded  silently  after  them,  her  eyes  evidently 
blind  to  the  brightness  of  the  day. 

For  the  first  half  of  the  way  he  ignored  her  mood, 
hoping  her  spirits  would  find  the  way  up  of  themselves, 
keeping  near  her  with  a  friendly  hand  for  difficulties, 
but  not  forcing  her  to  talk.  It  did  not  depress  him  - 
only  filled  him  with  a  warm  desire  to  pet  and  laugh  at 
her  as  he  did  at  Nell  and  Poppy.  He  had  no  intention 
of  showing  this,  but  life  was  very  strong  and  sweet  this 
morning,  and  the  footing  down  the  side  of  the  last 
ravine  was  treacherous,  keeping  him  close  beside  her. 
The  trail  went  in  abrupt  jumps,  winding  through  a 
thicket  of  dwarf  oak,  whose  rigid  little  twigs  snapped 
their  faces  and  caught  at  their  clothes.  He  had  just 
freed  her  hat  from  one  when  another  plunged  into  the 
soft  mass  of  her  hair. 

"Wait;  don't  move.  Let  me  undo  it,"  he  said.  As 
she  stood  patiently  with  head  bent  towards  him,  Ams- 
den  for  the  moment  forgot  everything  but  the  appeal 
of  her  dejection.  He  broke  away  the  twig,  then  let 
his  hands  slip  down  to  her  shoulders. 

"You  poor  little  soul  —  what  is  it?" 

She  seemed  to  crumple  in  his  arms,  then  slipped 
from  them  into  a  heap  in  the  path,  her  face  buried  in 
her  hands. 

"  Don't.    I'm  such  a  pig,"  she  sobbed. 

His  eyes  were  still  full  of  laughter,  but  his  voice  was 
68 


DR.    ELLEN 

sufficiently  grave  as  he  gently  rubbed  her  shoulder 
with  his  palm. 

"Tell  me  about  it.  I  don't  believe  you  have  been 
very  —  piggish." 

"Oh,  I  have!"  She  controlled  her  voice,  but  kept 
her  face  hidden.  "I  wouldn't  let  Ellen  come.  I 
mean,  I  showed  her  I  —  didn't  want  her  to.  It  hurt 
her  feelings.  And  she  is  always  so  good  to  me,  —  so 
—  so  —  I  am  always  the  horrid  one.  And  I  can't 
seem  to  help  it." 

The  tragedy  seemed  to  Amsden  very  funny  and 
pathetic  and  endearing.  He  sat  down  beside  her,  still 
with  his  palm  against  her  other  shoulder. 

"Why  didn't  you  want  her  to  come?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  It  just  isn't  so  much  fun  when 
she  comes.  I  am  mean  to  say  that!  But  you  know 
she  really  is  better  than  the  rest  of  us,  and  we  aren't 
so  comfortable."  She  glanced  quickly  about,  and 
caught  him  smiling.  "You  are  making  fun  of  me!" 

His  laugh  admitted  it.  "You  foolish  child!  Are 
you  spoiling  a  whole  beautiful  day  for  one  little  tiff?" 
This  aspect  of  it  evidently  brought  comfort.  Hope  of 
exoneration  shone  in  Ruth's  lifted  face. 

"But  Ellen  would  have  wanted  me  to  come  to  her 
picnic,"  she  persisted  faintly. 

"Oh,  bother  Ellen!"  He  jumped  up,  holding  down 
his  hands  to  her.  "There  is  no  law  about  wanting 
people,  so  long  as  you  wanted  me.  Now  let  us  have 
no  more  nonsense,  little  sister."  She  put  her  hands 
in  his  and  looked  earnestly  up  at  him. 

69 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  Do  you  honestly  like  me  best  —  better  than  Ellen  ?" 
she  asked  breathlessly. 

"Why,  of  course.    You  are  my  intimate  friend." 

The  last  remnant  of  a  shadow  cleared  away  magically 
as  she  scrambled  up. 

"I  am  glad." 

She  led  the  way  recklessly,  catching  herself  by  rocks 
and  branches  when  her  feet  threatened  to  run  away 
with  her,  laughing  back  at  him  for  approval  at  every 
narrow  escape.  He  found  her  delightful,  yet  his  mood 
had  unaccountably  chilled.  He  felt  a  dim  alarm  at 
the  memory  of  the  past  few  minutes. 

"Next  thing  I  know,  I  shall  be  making  a  fool  of 
myself,"  he  decided.  He  was  not  sorry  when  they 
caught  up  with  the  others. 

Across  the  ravine  the  trail  joined  an  old  wood  road 
that  mounted  Lone  Cedar  by  easy  stages.  Near  the 
summit  it  passed  a  comfortable  looking  cabin  with 
scarlet  curtains  in  the  windows,  and  an  attempt  at  a 
garden.  In  one  corner  of  this  a  man  knelt,  working 
with  a  trowel;  a  woman  sat  on  a  stump  close  by,  watch 
ing  him,  her  hand  on  the  head  of  a  brown  setter.  There 
was  a  curious  dejection  about  all  three. 

"Wow!  Did  you  ever  see  such  dismal- looking 
beggars?"  Wallace  exclaimed.  "You'd  think  it  was 
a  funeral." 

"Why,  it  is,"  interrupted  Ruth.  "Don't  you  see  — 
that  is  a  grave,  and  he  is  planting  things  on  it.  A 
child's  grave."  Her  tone  was  gently  awed. 

The  man  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  them,  a  quick, 
70 


DR.    ELLEN 

sullen  look,  but  long  enough  for  Amsden  to  recognize 
the  stern  face,  dully  white  under  a  shock  of  black  hair. 
He  remembered  the  explanation  of  the  snub  that  had 
been  dealt  him:  " That's  the  father.  It's  Ned  Spaul- 
ding."  So  Spaulding  had  lost  a  child,  and  was  per 
haps  bitter  against  all  mankind  for  the  time  being. 
Poor  old  chap!  The  explanation  took  the  sting  from 
the  memory. 

When  they  had  stood  in  the  clean  wind  under  the 
dwarfed  and  twisted  cedar  that  gave  its  name  to  the 
peak,  and  stared  their  fill  at  the  mountains  humping 
along  to  the  north  like  a  grand  old  line  of  camels,  they 
turned  back  to  a  sheltered  hollow,  sun-steeped  and 
aromatic,  cushioned  deep  in  needles,  and  lunched 
luxuriously  to  the  distant  pine  music. 

"Gee!  I'd  like  to  stay  here  forever,"  sighed  Wal 
lace,  rolling  over  and  stretching  to  express  his  content. 
"I'm  so  full  of  loving- kindness  and  chicken  and  good 
ness  and  innocence  and  beer  —  oh,  it's  great !  Amsden, 
what  do  we  go  back  for,  anyway?" 

"Well,  I  have  a  thing  called  a  career,  down 
there." 

"Wouldn't  you  give  it  up  like  a  shot  if  you  could? 
If  you  didn't  need  the  money?" 

"No." 

"Bet  you  would.  What's  the  good  of  success,  any 
way?" 

"It  makes  the  game  worth  the  candle,  I  suppose. 
One  must  aim  at  something." 

"Do  you  want  it  inside  or  outside?"  Ruth  asked 

71 


DR.    ELLEN 

thoughtfully.  "I  mean,  so  that  you  can  say  to  your 
self,  'I  have  done  good  work/  or  so  that  others  will 
say,  'There's  Amsden,  the  architect?'" 

He  smiled  at  her  lazily  over  his  folded  arms. 

"I  want  it  so  that  my  grandchildren  may  be  both 
rich  and  proud." 

"Well,  you'd  better  hurry  up  about  those  grand 
children,"  Wallace  put  in.  "You're  getting  on  —  and 
there  are  preliminaries." 

"I  don't  care  for  the  tone  this  conversation  is  taking," 
said  Christine  with  mock  primness,  and  brought  the 
talk  back  to  the  eternal  guying. 

Amsden  slipped  off  into  his  own  thoughts,  his  head 
on  his  arms.  His  city  ambitions  seemed  at  the  present 
moment  rather  trivial.  And  there  was  something  in 
what  Wallace  had  said  —  about  the  preliminaries. 
He  believed  that  he  could  forego  a  wife  cheerfully 
enough,  but  some  day  there  must  be  little  girls  in  his 
house,  like  Nell  and  Poppy.  A  boy,  too;  only  not  a 
serious,  sensitive  little  chap,  such  as  he  had  been;  he 
preferred  the  robust,  puppy  order  of  boy.  He  looked 
reflectively  at  Ruth,  ecstatic  at  that  moment  over  some 
nonsense  of  Wallace's.  Perhaps  it  would  not  be 
making  a  fool  of  himself,  after  all. 

It  was  a  sense  of  a  flaw  in  his  content  rather  than 
any  tangible  sound  that  made  him  presently  glance 
over  his  shoulder.  His  start  drew  the  eyes  of  the 
others  after  his  to  a  pine  tree  not  twenty  feet  away, 
against  which  leaned  the  gaunt  form  of  Ned  Spaulding. 
From  his  relaxed  attitude,  he  might  have  been  stand - 

72 


DR.    ELLEN 

ing  there  some  time.  Christine  gave  a  startled  squeal, 
and  the  men  rose  to  their  feet. 

"  Jolly,  ain't  you,"  said  Spaulding;  his  voice  was 
hard  and  hostile.  "Hevin'  a  party.  It's  a  wonder 
the  doctor  ain't  with  you.  She's  goin'  to  hev  more 
spare  time  now  for  gallivanting  with  a  real  doctor 
here  for  the  sick  folks  —  them  that  ain't  dead  of 
neglect  already." 

The  girls  shrank  back,  frightened.  Wallace  would 
have  blustered,  but  Amsden  interposed  with  temporiz 
ing  quietness. 

"You're  Spaulding,  Ned  Spaulding,"  he  said.  "You 
have  had  a  great  loss.  It's  —  hard  lines."  The  man 
eyed  him  with  fierce  contempt. 

"Yes;  when  your  only  child  is  murdered  and  you 
haven't  got  no  redress  —  yes,  you  might  call  it  hard 
lines." 

"Murdered!" 

"  Yes,  murdered  —  by  an  ignorant  she  doctor.  Let 
a  baby  choke  to  death.  Never  did  nothing  for  her 
poor  throat,  pretendin'  to  treat  her  some  other  way  — 
that  warn't  so  much  trouble  for  the  doctor!  She  might 
just  as  well  hev  strangled  that  child  with  her  two 
hands  —  I  wish  to  God  she  had.  Then  I  could  - 

"Beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Spaulding,  sir,  but  your 
wife  is  needing  you  down  at  the  house,"  broke  in  a 
quiet  voice.  Mr.  Gilfillan  had  come  noiselessly  over 
the  pine  needles  and  paused  deferentially  at  a  distance 
from  the  group,  a  lank,  homely  figure,  who  spoke  with 
eyes  averted,  as  though  from  a  gentle  desire  to  make 

73 


DR.    ELLEN 

it  easier  for  others.  "She  thought  you  might  be  up 
here  somewheres  and  I  was  glad  to  fetch  you  for  her. 
Sorry  to  interrupt,  sir." 

Spaulding  hesitated  a  moment,  then  turned  and 
plunged  down  the  slope  without  a  word,  leaving  the 
minister  to  follow,  his  ancient  frock  coat  flapping 
patiently  about  his  knees. 

The  sunny  content  of  the  afternoon  was  shattered. 
They  began  to  gather  their  belongings  in  uncomfortable 
silence. 

"Well,  I  suppose  a  doctor  can't  help  making  mis 
takes,"  Christine  said,  evidently  with  an  idea  of  being 
comforting  and  magnanimous.  "Probably  she  tries  to 
take  more  cases  than  she  can  manage." 

"It  is  more  likely  that  the  man  does  not  know  what 
he  is  talking  about,"  said  Amsden,  with  an  incisiveness 
that  surprised  himself.  "I  cannot  imagine  Mrs. 
Roderick  careless  of  any  responsibility." 

"You  bet,"  Wallace  confirmed  him. 

Christine  was  never  one  to  cling  to  the  unpopular 
side. 

"Oh,  of  course  not;  I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  assured 
them. 

"But  it's  dreadful  to  be  a  doctor,"  said  Ruth  with 
a  sigh.  "I  wish  she  would  give  it  up.  I  wouldn't 
stay  in  a  profession  where  such  horrible  things  could 
be  said  of  me." 

"I  never  did  believe  in  it  for  a  woman,"  agreed 
Christine. 

Amsden  turned  impatiently  away  from  them.  "  They 
74 


DR.    ELLEN 

are  only  girls,"  he  tried  to  reassure  himself;  but  his 
disappointment  betrayed  how  far  his  musings  had  led 
him.  After  all,  the  merry-little-dog  ideal  of  com 
panionship  might  have  serious  limitations  when  life 
presented  big  issues.  He  was  glad  that  the  girls 
elected  to  walk  together,  leaving  him  free. 

As  they  passed  the  Spaulding  cabin,  Mr.  Gilfillan 
came  out.  Amsden  paused. 

"I  will  follow  you,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  told  the 
others;  "I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  the  preacher." 

"Oh,  certainly;  don't  mind  us,"  said  Christine,  with 
an  exaggerated  toss  of  her  head;  but  Ruth  smiled 
brightly  to  show  that  she  was  not  in  the  least 
hurt. 

The  two  men  were  oddly  contrasted  as  they  met. 
Amsden's  neat  outlines,  his  fine,  scholarly  face,  his 
reserved  grey  eyes  with  their  look  of  quiet  strength, 
gave  him  every  outer  advantage  over  the  shambling, 
palely  freckled  Southerner  in  his  grotesquely  loose 
clothes,  his  long  features  suggesting  that  they  had 
received  a  sharp  pull  downward  at  some  early  period, 
his  dingy  little  eyes  never  looking  straight  ahead. 
Nevertheless,  there  was  no  patronage  in  the  younger 
man's  interest.  He  had  a  suspicion  that  this  lanky 
preacher  might  be  of  a  vastly  higher  civilization  than 
himself,  in  the  broadest  sense  of  the  term. 

"Do  you  do  all  your  visiting  on  foot?"  he  asked  as 
they  fell  into  step. 

"Not  usually,  sir.  But  my  little  mare  has  had  a 
hard  year,  and  I  am  giving  her  a  rest.  These  friends 

75 


DR.    ELLEN 

of  mine  are  in  great  trouble,"  he  added,  with  a  motion 
of  his  head  towards  the  cabin.  "I  come  up  as  often 
as  I  can." 

They  hesitated  before  the  topic,  then  Amsden  took 
it  up. 

"I  have  seen  that  Mrs.  Roderick  was  upset  about 
something.  I  suppose  Spaulding  has  been  attacking 
her  right  and  left." 

Mr.  Gilfillan  nodded  regretfully.  "Pretty  much. 
They  don't  treat  diphtheria  like  they  used  to,  and  he 
allows  his  child  was  neglected  because  there  wasn't  a 
lot  of  throat  washes  and  medicines.  I  reckon  he'll  see 
it  different  when  he's  more  ca'm.  It  takes  time  — 
takes  time." 

"It  must  be  maddening  to  have  to  fight  stubborn 
ignorance  as  well  as  disease,"  Amsden  said  thought 
fully.  "I  should  think  Mrs.  Roderick  could  really 
accomplish  more  down  in  the  city."  Mr.  Gilfillan  was 
silent  a  few  moments,  his  hand  on  the  little  beard  that 
had  roused  Ruth's  scorn.  A  turn  of  the  road  showed 
them  a  diminishing  vista  of  peaks,  sharply  blue  in  the 
distance. 

"I  reckon  it  ain't  always  the  number  of  folks  you 
help  that  counts,"  he  said  slowly.  "You  see  that 
mountain  to  the  right,  the  bare  one?  It's  a  cattle 
range,  and  about  half-way  up  there's  a  cabin  with  a 
woman  in  it.  She's  nigh  twelve  miles  from  a  neighbour, 
and  four  years  ago,  when  the  snow  was  over  your 
head,  she  had  a  baby  —  came  before  'twas  expected. 
They  sent  to  Gallop,  but  the  doctor  was  drunk  — 

76 


DR.    ELLEN 

couldn't  do  anything  with  him.  The  parson  went  up 
and  buried  the  child;  most  buried  the  mother,  too. 
But  she  pulled  through  somehow.  Now  what  do  you 
reckon  it  means  to  that  woman  to  know  that  M'z 
Roderick's  just  waiting  for  the  word  to  come  up  and 
help  her  through  this  time  ?  Think  of  it  —  strong  as 
a  man  and  gentle  as  a  woman,  and  ready  to  work  day 
and  night  to  make  it  safe  and  sure.  Do  you  believe 
a  dozen  cases  in  the  city,  with  plenty  of  folks  at  hand, 
can  balance  that?" 

Amsden's  pulse  responded  to  the  picture.     "It  is 
magnificent,"  he  said;  then  Ruth's  laugh  from  the 
road  ahead  reminded  him.     "Still,  I  can't  help  feeling 
that  it  could  be  done  nearly  as  well  by  a  coarser  in 
strument,"  he  objected;  "by  some  one  whose  training 
had  not  prepared  him  —  and  his  family  —  for  a  differ 
ent   sort  of  life.    Why  should   not   Gallop  have   an 
honest,  sober  doctor,  sufficiently  skilful  and  reliable, 
but  not  —  too  good  for  his  job?" 
"And  so  it  will  have,  if  I'm  spared." 
"You?    Are  you  going  to  be  a  doctor?" 
"Well,  sir,  I  am  one  now,  so  far  as  having  a  certificate 
goes;  I  went  down  last  spring  and  took  the  examina 
tions.    I  had  been  working  towards  it  ever  since  my 
voice  broke  down  and  I  had  to  give  up  my  church, 
five  years  ago." 
"But  you  are  not  practising?" 
"Oh,  there's  time,  there's  time.     I'm  not  sure  as 
there's  quite  room  here  yet  for  two  of  us,  but  if  she 
does  want  to  go,  she'll  feel  easier."    There  was  a 

77 


DR.    ELLEN 

simplicity  of  devotion  in  the  words  that  moved  Amsden 
to  a  keen  desire  for  a  better  understanding. 

"Then  you  do  it  for  her  as  well  as  for  the  people?" 

"I  do  it,  sir,  because  it's  needed." 

The  answer  moved  the  younger  man  to  impatient 
protest.  "But  —  yourself!"  he  exclaimed.  "Haven't 
you  any  personal  life,  any  personal  desires?  Don't 
you  want  money  or  children  or  fame  —  something  that 
isn't  all  for  the  good  of  others  ?  Where  is  your  human 
self  in  all  this?"  The  little  eyes  rested  on  him  indul 
gently  for  a  moment. 

"Well,  sir,  it's  sort  of  this  way.  If  you  were  hurrying 
down  a  street  and  saw  a  child  get  hurt  —  so  that  it 
screamed  with  pain  —  you'd  forget  for  the  moment 
that  you  had  a  car  to  ketch,  wouldn't  you?" 

"I  suppose  so.     Yes,  of  course." 

"Well,  that's  what  happens  when  you  get  to  hearing 
the  world's  crying;  you  forget  you  wanted  to  ketch 
a  car.  And  it  don't  feel  like  giving  up  what  you  call 
your  personal  life  —  it's  more  like  finding  it.  That's 
what  you  want,  don't  you  see?  To  ease  that  crying." 

After  a  long  silence,  Amsden  gave  it  up  with  a  sigh 
and  a  shake  of  his  head. 

"I  think  you're  splendid,  you  know,"  he  said;  "but 
I  am  a  son  of  the  world  and  the  flesh  —  out  for  myself, 
I'm  afraid." 

"Well,  sir,  I  suppose  you're  right  happy  and  satis 
fied?" 

Amsden  laughed  reluctantly.  "No;  neither  happy 
nor  satisfied,  except  when  I  am  too  busy  to  think." 

78 


DR.    ELLEN 

"To  think  about  yourself?" 

They  were  nearly  at  the  point  where  the  trail  branched 
off  from  the  road,  and  the  others  were  waiting  for 
Amsden. 

"Yes,  myself,  I  suppose." 

Mr.  Gilfillan  paused  and  held  out  his  hand.  "If 
you  once  got  outside  of  yourself,  sir  —  you'd  never 
want  to  get  in  again!"  The  two  men  smiled  at  each 
other  over  their  clasped  hands. 

"Good  luck  to  you,"  said  Amsden. 

The  others  attacked  him  teasingly  on  his  new  friend 
as  the  ancient  frock  coat  flapped  out  of  sight. 

"That  is  all  right.  He's  a  splendid  old  fellow," 
Amsden  insisted.  "  I  like  his  philosophy." 

"Good.  He'll  make  a  man  of  you  yet,"  said 
Wallace. 


79 


VIII 

THE  days  drifted  by  very  lazily  and  happily  for 
Amsden.  He  was  increasingly  glad  that  he  had  come. 
Ruth  expanded  under  his  approval  like  a  flower  in  the 
sun,  and  covert  tilts  with  Ellen  gave  a  subdued  excite 
ment  to  their  meetings  at  meals.  She  said  nothing 
about  her  professional  troubles,  though  Amsden  learned 
from  Mr.  Gilfillan  how  serious  they  were,  and  would 
have  been  sympathetic  if  she  had  given  him  a 
chance. 

The  idea  that  had  occurred  to  him  in  the  hollow  on 
Lone  Cedar  —  that  Ruth  might  "do"  —  came  back 
tentatively  now  and  again  under  the  influence  of  her 
brilliant  sweetness.  It  would  be  frankly  a  compro 
mise,  but  no  doubt  the  element  of  compromise  was  as 
inescapable  in  marriage  as  in  everything  else.  She 
was  certainly  a  dear  soul.  The  fact  that  a  battle  must 
be  fought  with  Ellen  first  added  an  amused  zest  to 
the  idea;  he  had  already  in  hand  the  plain  truths  with 
which  he  should  meet  her  unwillingness  to  let  Ruth  go. 
A  grimly  satisfying  rehearsal  of  these,  one  evening, 
was  broken  in  on  by  a  plaintive,  "Hello,  central! 
Can't  you  get  Mr.  Amsden?"  from  Christine.  He 
started  and  laughed. 

"Please  forgive  me,"  he  said,  withdrawing  his  gaze 
80 


DR.    ELLEN 

from  the  unconscious  Ellen,  who  was  herself  lost  in 
thought,  a  little  apart  from  the  rest.  "Did  you  ask 
me  something?  I  was  wool-gathering." 

"Looked  more  like  scalp-gathering,"  commented 
Wallace  from  the  hammock.  The  lamp  was  not  yet 
lighted  and  they  were  lounging  about  the  fire,  Ruth 
and  Christine  curled  on  the  hearthrug.  "Who  were 
you  laying  for,  Amsden?" 

"I  think  he  was  righting  for  a  principle,"  put  in 
Ruth.  "Have  you  heard  anything  at  all  for  the  past 
ten  minutes?"  He  had  to  admit  that  he  had  not. 
"Then  you  don't  know  that  we  are  thinking  of  going 
camping  for  a  couple  of  days?"  Ellen  moved  slightly, 
as  if  she  too  had  only  just  heard  the  news. 

"We'll  sleep  in  bags  and  have  a  camp-fire,"  explained 
Christine,  joyously.  "And  maybe  we'll  see  —  a  bear!" 
Her  mouth  and  eyes  were  rounded  to  a  suitable  awe. 
Ruth  turned  to  her  sister. 

"Will  you  go,  Ellen?"  she  asked,  simply  and  sweetly. 
Ellen's  face  lit  with  a  warmth  almost  maternal. 

"Yes;  I  should  love  to,"  she  said  quickly.  She 
moved  a  little  closer  to  the  hearthrug.  "Don't  you 
want  a  back?"  she  suggested.  Ruth  leaned  against 
her  knees  and  Ellen's  hand  touched  almost  timidly  the 
soft  mass  of  her  hair.  Amsden  had  to  admit  that  in 
that  moment  Ellen  was  beautiful.  The  firelight 
brought  out  the  blond  shine  in  her  heavy,  straight  hair, 
parted  across  a  low  forehead  that  was  sunburned  to  a 
darker  tone:  steady  strength  looked  out  of  her  grey 
eyes,  warmth  lay  about  her  unconscious  mouth:  the 

81 


DR.    ELLEN 

power  of  her  wonderful  arms  and  shoulders  was  as 
clearly  expressed  in  repose  as  in  work.  Yes,  she  was 
beautiful,  and  in  this  moment  of  gentleness  it  was  hard 
to  think  harsh  things  of  her. 

Christine  seemed  to  find  cause  for  irritation  in  the 
friendly  tableau. 

"I  wish  you'd  pad  your  hearthrugs,"  she  said  with  a 
restless  movement.  "Will,  throw  me  a  cushion  —  oh, 
not  a  turkey- red  one,  silly!  Have  a  little  respect  for 
the  colour  of  my  hair." 

"I  thought  it  would  just  match,"  said  Wallace,  in 
nocently;  and  received  it  back  full  in  the  face.  "  Wow! 
These  red-headed  tempers!"  he  exclaimed,  blinking 
from  the  force  of  the  blow.  "And  just  when  I  was 
beginning  to  take  a  sentimental  interest  in  you,  Chris 
tine!" 

" Oh,  Willie!"  Scrambling  up,  she  flew  to  the  ham 
mock  and  fell  on  her  knees  beside  it.  "Are  you, 
really?"  He  was  holding  both  hands  pressed  to  his 
cheek. 

"I  was,  Christine,"  he  said  with  dignity.  "Now 
I  am  in  pain  and  it's  gone.  If  you  cared  to  make  the 
place  well  in  the  good  old  orthodox  fashion — " 

"Vinegar  and  brown  paper?" 

"Yes:  that  is  exactly  what  I  meant.  'Her  mother, 
vex't,  Did  whip  her  next,'"  he  added  dreamily.  "I'll 
bet  that  did  Jack  more  good  than  the  vinegar  cure." 

"It  didn't.     Jack  was  a  very  nice  boy." 

"So'm  I,"  asserted  Wallace. 

'  "Well,  if  you  feel  that  sentimental  interest  coming 

82 


DR.    ELLEN 

back  again,  will  you  tell  me?"  she  urged  with  mock 
anxiety. 

"What  will  you  do?"  he  asked  cautiously. 

"Scream  for  help,"  was  the  unexpected  reply,  and 
they  all  laughed. 

"When  you  come  to  a  lull,"  suggested  Ruth,  "we 
will  go  on  planning  our  excursion." 

"A  lull?  What's  a  lull?"  asked  Wallace.  "I 
never  came  to  one  yet.  You  people  are  too  sophis 
ticated  for  me." 

"A  lull,"  explained  Christine,  "is  what  happens 
when  you  are  not  around." 

"Oh,  then  I  suppose  it's  brushing  your  back  hair 
and  telling  secrets.  Girls  always  do  when  they're 
alone." 

"No  doubt  men  would,  too,  if  they  had  any  back 
hair  to  brush." 

"Not  much.  Do  you  suppose  you'd  catch  Ying  at 
it?  —  and  he  has  back  hair  to  burn."  The  picture 
of  Ying  gossiping  over  the  plaiting  of  his  pigtail  made 
the  girls  laugh. 

"Oh,  Willie,  you're  lovely,"  sighed  Christine.  "I 
almost  think  I  might  do  worse." 

"Well,  think  it  over  some  more  —  don't  decide  in  a 
hurry,"  he  protested. 

"  Oh,  I'll  let  you  know  in  plenty  of  time,"  she  assured 
him. 

"What  a  shy,  timid,  reserved  thing  modern  senti 
ment  is,"  commented  Ellen,  who  had  been  looking  on 
amusedly. 

83 


DR.    ELLEN 

"So'm  I,"  returned  Wallace.  "I  guess  we'd  better 
talk  about  the  excursion." 

"We  will  borrow  Rory's  spring  wagon,  and  two  can 
go  in  that  with  the  outfit  —  the  rest  on  horseback," 
Ruth  explained,  turning  to  Amsden.  "We  have  a 
special  place  near  the  head  of  Juniper  Creek,  where 
we  go  every  year.  We  might  ask  Rory  to  go  —  what 
do  you  say,  Ellen?" 

"By  all  means,"  Ellen  assented  with  warm  readiness. 
Ruth  moved  a  little  closer  to  her. 

"We  shall  have  to  have  more  horses,"  she  went  on. 
"  I  wish  we  could  get  that  little  brown  mare  of  Larsen's 
that  Miss  Finch  drives;  but  it  is  engaged  for  the  sum 
mer." 

"So'm  I,"  murmured  Wallace  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

Ellen  usually  excused  herself  or  slipped  away  un 
noticed  early  in  the  evening,  but  to-night  Ruth's  head 
against  her  knee  seemed  to  hold  her  —  seemed  also  to 
bring  her  into  closer  sympathy  with  them  than  usual, 
for  certainly  her  presence  proved  no  constraint.  A 
tangible  pleasantness  pervaded  the  big,  firelit  room; 
they  laughed  easily,  warmed  with  a  grateful  sense  of 
human  nearness.  It  was  late  when  the  men  set  out 
down  the  trail. 

When  Ellen  had  gone  to  lock  up,  Christine  turned  a 
significant  glance  on  Ruth. 

"That  was  a  good  idea  to  ask  Rory;  now  we're  an 
even  six.  Of  course,  we  couldn't  have  gone  without 
any  chaperon,"  she  added  with  a  faint  sigh. 

Ruth  yawned  happily  and  openly.  "Don't,  Chris- 
84 


DR.    ELLEN 

tine,"  she  protested.  "I'm  good  to-night;  for  heaven's 
sake  let  me  see  if  I  can't  stay  so!" 

Rory  consented  drily  to  the  expedition,  and  agreed 
to  furnish  a  horse  for  the  spring-wagon,  on  condition 
that  no  one  but  herself  should  touch  the  reins.  They 
were  not  tempted  to  dispute  that  privilege  with  her 
when  a  gaunt,  black  beast  with  rakish  hips,  a  hostile 
eye,  and  a  lower  lip  evilly  protruding,  stood  scowling 
and  stamping  before  the  door  a  few  days  later.  They 
had  just  finished  an  early  lunch  and  were  giving  a 
final  look  to  the  equipment  of  the  four  saddle  horses. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Rory,  unmoved  by  their 
comments.  "He'll  get  us  there  in  three  hours  without 
turning  a  hair,  which  is  more  than  those  two  thorough 
breds  you've  hired  can  do.  I  guess  Dr.  Ellen  isn't 
afraid." 

"She's  afraid  of  Ying,"  confided  Ruth  in  a  whisper. 
"He  doesn't  approve  of  excursions,  and  he's  been  going 
about  like  the  Wrath  of  God  ever  since  this  was  broken 
to  him."  Ying  stalked  out  at  that  moment  and  stowed 
the  provisions  into  the  wagon  with  a  thud  that  made 
the  horse  start.  Ellen  followed  him  looking  somewhat 
chastened. 

"Good-by,  Ying,"  she  said  with  conciliatory  friend 
liness  as  she  got  in  beside  Rory. 

A  scornful  "H'hl"  was  the  only  answer,  and  the 
door  was  slammed  upon  them.  They  did  not  dare 
smile  at  one  another  until  they  were  beyond  range  of 
the  windows. 

Ruth,  riding  cross-saddle,  her  hair  in  a  braided  queue 

85 


DR.    ELLEN 

tied  with  a  black  ribbon  and  the  brim  of  her  felt  hat 
blown  straight  up  in  front,  looked  like  a  gallant  young 
Continental.  The  costume  was  less  becoming  to  Chris 
tine,  who  was  slightly  irritable  in  consequence.  At 
Wallace's  guileless  comment  that  she  "ought  to  train 
down  a  bit,"  she  decided  that  she  had  a  headache,  and 
disliked  riding  in  the  hot  sun,  and  that  her  saddle  was 
not  comfortable. 

"She  wouldn't  mind  the  sun  if  she  could  see  how 
enchanting  her  hair  looks,  would  she,  Will,"  said  Ruth, 
generously  eager  to  have  everyone  as  happy  as  herself. 
"It's  just  like  burnished  copper." 

"Too  bad  locks  of  hair  have  gone  out,  as  keepsakes," 
assented  Will.  "Wouldn't  one  of  those  little  cork 
screws  be  a  jolly  thing  to  have  found  over  the  heart 
when  one  was  dead!" 

"Over  the  left  —  that's  the  only  place  you  will  ever 
wear  one,"  returned  Christine;  but  her  headache 
seemed  to  be  better.  She  was  in  high  spirits  by  the 
time  they  reached  the  village,  and  did  not  share  the 
impulse  of  the  others  to  attract  as  little  attention  as 
possible.  The  surly  looks  they  met  served  only  to 
deepen  her  amusement  over  the  funny  little  place,  and 
she  would  have  stopped  at  the  store  for  candy  but  for 
the  sudden  appearance  of  Ned  Spaulding,  gaunt  and 
scowling,  in  the  doorway.  Her  laugh  as  she  rode  on 
sounded  insolently  loud  in  the  silence  that  had  fallen 
on  the  street  at  their  approach. 

"The  girl's  a  fool,"  muttered  Rory,  touching  up  her 
horse.  Amsden  glanced  back  at  the  turning,  and  saw 

86 


DR.    ELLEN 

Spaulding  with  impassioned  gestures  holding  forth  to 
a  gathering  crowd. 

For  the  first  few  miles  their  road  was  little  more 
than  an  elongated  dent  in  a  sheer  mountain  side,  with 
stations  built  out  at  infrequent  intervals  where  teams 
might  pass.  At  each  of  these  Rory  pulled  up  and  sent 
her  clear  halloo  echoing  on  ahead:  the  lack  of  an 
answering  shout  showed  the  road  clear.  The  only 
shade  here  was  given  by  occasional  rocks  that  jutted 
menacingly  over  their  heads.  From  the  tangled  growth 
of  the  sharp  descent  beneath  came  the  aromatic  scent 
of  sunned  herbs;  jack-rabbits  bounded  down  the  road 
ahead  of  them,  and  once  they  saw  a  huge  snake  pouring 
like  a  jet  of  brown  lava  over  the  edge  of  the  bank. 
It  was  a  relief  to  turn  into  the  cool  freshness  of  a  road 
that  wound  up  the  long  ascent  of  a  pine-clad  ridge, 
and  finally  plunged  abruptly  down  into  the  shallow 
canon  where  Juniper  Creek  played  among  the  rocks 
in  eternal  childhood,  ignorant  of  the  toil  awaiting  its 
lusty  strength  farther  down. 

When  the  outfit  had  been  unpacked  and  wood 
gathered  for  the  camp-fire,  the  two  men  were  sent  down 
stream  while  the  girls  bathed  in  a  shallow  granite 
basin,  its  waters  gilded  to  a  specious  effect  of  warmth 
by  the  sun's  final  burst  of  glory,  poured  down  over 
them  through  the  western  opening  of  the  canon.  The 
men  came  back  wet-haired  and  ruddy,  to  find  the  fire 
crackling,  and  Ellen  setting  out  their  supper.  She 
would  not  allow  anyone  to  help. 

"You  have  all  ridden  or  driven  all  the  way,  while  I 

87 


DR.    ELLEN 

have  come  in  absolute  idleness,"  she  insisted.  "I  am 
going  to  do  everything.  All  I  ask  is  that  Ruth  puts  on 
her  sweater,  whether  she  thinks  she  needs  it  or  not." 

Ruth  laughed  and  obeyed.  Her  attitude  towards 
Ellen  had  been  wholly  sweet  all  day,  and  Ellen  showed 
a  grateful  happiness  that  struck  Amsden  as  almost 
pathetic  in  one  so  strong  and  self-reliant  —  so  superior, 
as  Christine  called  it.  Ruth  turned  to  him  to  have  her 
sleeves  pushed  in. 

"It  isn't  really  necessary,  with  this  shirt,  but  it  is 
such  a  pleasant  custom,"  she  confessed.  "Don't  you 
wish  really  big  sleeves  would  come  into  fashion  again 
so  that  you  would  always  have  to  tuck  them  in?" 

"Why  do  you  like  it?"  he  asked,  smiling  down  on 
her.  He  felt  an  unexpected  impulse  to  complete  his 
work  by  buttoning  the  sweater  under  her  lifted  chin, 
but  thrust  his  hands  firmly  into  his  pockets  instead. 

"It  feels  so  kind  and  friendly  and  protective!" 
Ruth  was  leading  the  way  up  the  brook,  Wallace  and 
Christine  having  taken  the  other  direction;  her  rubber- 
soled  canvas  shoes  gave  to  her  natural  poise  a  lightness 
and  security  that  made  her  seem  almost  more  than 
mortal  in  her  flitting  over  the  rocks.  "And  they  do 
it  so  considerately  —  oh,  I  could  cry  with  gratitude." 
She  laughed  at  herself.  "It  makes  me  feel  little  and 
beloved,"  she  confided.  "Fashion  ought  always  to 
arrange  openings  like  that." 

"Well,  doesn't  it?  I  notice  that  I  have  had  to 
button  my  sister  up  the  back  occasionally,  of  late 
years."  He  followed  to  the  top  of  the  boulder  where 

88 


DR.    ELLEN 

she  had  seated  herself,  and  stood  for  a  moment  looking 
down  through  the  cleft  of  the  canon  to  the  western 
sky,  barred  with  fading  gold.  The  wonderful  night 
smells  of  the  mountains  were  flooding  up  to  them  from 
the  dark,  massed  green  beneath,  where  the  chill  had 
already  fallen,  though  their  sun-steeped  rock  was  still 
warm.  "But  Aileen  doesn't  seem  moved  to  cry  with 
gratitude  about  it,"  he  added,  dropping  down  beside 
her. 

"Oh,  that  is  different;"  but  she  was  evidently  think 
ing  of  something  else.  "Are  you  always  nice  to  your 
sister?"  she  asked  abruptly. 

"I  have  to  be.  She  wouldn't  let  me  play  with  Nell 
and  Poppy,  otherwise." 

"Ah,  you  probably  want  to  be."  She  sighed. 
"You  haven't  any  hateful  feminine  streaks  in  you. 
But  I  have  been  good  as  gold  to-day,"  she  added,  her 
face  clearing  and  lighting  with  its  magic  swiftness  of 
transition.  "I  have  discovered  a  great  new  truth.  I 
am  going  to  give  it  to  the  world  presently,  but  you 
shall  hear  it  first.  It  is,  Be  good  and  you  will  be 
happy." 

Amsden,  who  was  lying  on  his  back,  pulled  out  a 
note-book  and,  holding  it  up  against  the  sky,  wrote 
down  the  words  and  the  date  with  her  initials. 

"When  your  great  discovery  has  made  you  famous, 
I  shall  point  to  this  and  say, '  She  told  me  first.'  There 
is  a  secondary  discovery,  by  the  way,  that  you  will 
probably  make  before  long." 

"What?" 

89 


DR.    ELLEN 

"That  that  is  a  high  price  to  pay  merely  to  be 
happy." 

"Oh,  no!  Oh,  you  mustn't  put  such  thoughts  into 
my  head!"  But  she  laughed  delightedly.  "You  are 
so  human,"  she  said  with  a  little  movement  towards 
him,  as  unconscious  as  the  brimming  light  in  her 
eyes. 

"God  knows  I  am!"  he  said  half  to  himself,  looking 
away  from  her  with  an  effort. 

The  wonder  if  Ruth  would  not  "do"  had  come 
back  persistently  all  that  day,  and  in  the  pause  that 
followed  it  grew  suddenly  to  a  wonder  that  he  had 
ever  doubted.  Surely  life  could  hold  nothing  better 
for  him.  The  conviction  brought  a  relieved  joy;  some 
tiresome  protest  deep  within  was  silenced  at  last,  and 
he  could  set  about  his  wooing  like  any  other  man, 
happy  in  the  hope  of  success.  He  had  been  expecting 
too  much  of  love,  that  was  all.  It  was  not  a  master 
passion,  but  a  warm  and  cherishing  kindness,  inex 
plicably  touched  with  pity.  His  revery  was  broken  in 
on  by  her  impetuous,  "Mr.  Amsden!" 

"Miss  Chantry,"  he  returned  mockingly.  She 
looked  disconcerted,  and  smiled  at  him  helplessly. 
"If  we  had  been  cast  six  years  ago  on  a  desert  island," 
he  went  on,  "I  suppose  you  would  still  be  saying, 
'Mr.  Amsden,  will  you  pass  the  breadfruit?'  or,  'Mr. 
Amsden,  do  you  see  a  sail?"1 

To  his  surprise,  she  coloured  vividly.  "I  can't  help 
it,"  she  protested. 

"Philip  is  a  very  simple  name;  you  would  think 
90 


DR.    ELLEN 

anyone  could  say  it.  However,  as  you  please,  Miss 
Chantry.  You  were  saying — ?" 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  call  me  that!  You  said 
'Ruth'  this  morning." 

"It  was  a  great  liberty  on  my  part,  Miss  Chantry. 
I  apologize." 

"Ah,  now  you  are  a  thousand  miles  off!"  She  was 
genuinely  distressed.  "Please  don't  —  do  come  back! 
I  don't  want  to  call  you  —  that.  I  don't  know  why 
—  I  just  can't!  But  I  want  you  to  call  me  Ruth.  Oh, 
please  be  good  to  me!"  Tears  on  her  eyelashes 
startled  a  warm  laugh  from  him. 

"Ruth,  you  absurd  Ruth—!" 

"Supper!"  called  Ellen's  voice  from  below.  Ruth 
jumped  up,  vividly  gay  again,  and  Amsden  followed 
her  back  with  amused,  kindly,  possessive  eyes.  Most 
assuredly  she  would  "do,"  for  any  man  in  his  senses. 
That  he  had  no  lover's  doubts  of  the  issue  should 
have  been  a  warning  to  him;  but  he  was  in  no  mood 
to  heed  warnings. 

Rory  had  gathered  crimson  fireweed  to  decorate  the 
blue  tablecloth  spread  on  the  pine  needles,  and  as 
Ying's  disapproval  had  not  extended  to  his  prepara 
tions,  they  supped  luxuriously,  contentedly  quiet  after 
the  long  day.  By  the  time  supper  was  cleared  away 
black  darkness  lay  like  a  wall  outside  their  circle  of 
firelit  trunks.  The  fire  was  built  on  an  embedded 
rock  and  safeguarded  with  a  trench,  so  they  piled  it 
recklessly  high  and  roasted  alternate  sides,  doubling 
up  their  blanket  sleeping  bags  for  cushions.  Amsden, 

91 


DR.    ELLEN 

lying  on  his  back  beneath  a  young  hemlock,  saw  its 
feathery  branches  marvellously  decorated  with  stars, 
like  brilliant  blossoms  studding  the  stems  and  tipping 
the  delicate  points  of  the  needles.  The  darkness  had 
wiped  out  the  distance  between  bough  and  sky.  It 
was  so  enchanting,  his  tree  full  of  stars,  that  he  felt 
vaguely  selfish  in  keeping  it  to  himself. 

"But  Christine  would  find  it  funny,"  he  reflected, 
"and  Ruth  would  enjoy  it  only  by  sympathy  —  because 
someone  else  did;  she  doesn't  care  for  natural  beauty. 
And  Dr.  Ellen  — "  He  paused,  suddenly  beyond  his 
depths,  and  lifted  his  head  to  look  across  at  Ellen. 
She  had  thrown  herself  back  to  stare  up  through  the 
branches  overhead,  and  there  was  a  half  smile  on  her 
face,  a  look  of  wonder  and  delight.  Evidently  she  too 
had  discovered  a  tree  full  of  stars. 

"And  she  doesn't  want  to  share  it,  either,"  he  decided. 

Christine  sat  up  with  a  bored  yawn.  "Why  didn't 
we  bring  cards  for  bridge,"  she  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  we  couldn't  see  to  play  unless  we  sat  too  close 
to  the  fire,"  said  Ruth,  drowsily. 

"Won't  there  be  a  moon,  later?" 

"Not  till  after  midnight,  I  think.  It's  on  its  last 
quarter." 

"So'm  I,"  murmured  Wallace. 

"What  can  we  do,  then?"  Christine  persisted.  "I 
think  somebody  might  be  amusing." 

"Lie  down  and  think  about  nice  things,"  counselled 
Ruth.  "A  night  like  this  is  all  full  of  the  dearest 
little  thoughts,  if  you  give  it  a  chance." 

92 


DR.    ELLEN 

"So'm  I,"  came  again  from  Wallace's  blanket. 

"But  I  hear  such  queer  noises  when  you're  all 
quiet,"  Christine  complained.  "I  know  there  is  a 
whole  circle  of  wild  beasts  out  there  watching  us." 

"  Oh,  nonsense.  You  hear  the  horses  and  the  brook. 
There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  is  there,  Ellen?" 

Ellen,  who  had  obviously  heard  only  the  last  sen 
tence,  repeated,  "  Afraid  of?  Here?"  with  a  frankness 
of  surprise  that  Christine  resented. 

"I  think  people  who  consider  themselves  brave  are 
often  simply  stupid  or  unsensitive  —  coarse-fibred," 
she  said  into  the  air.  "If  you  are  all  going  to  sleep 
I  will  draw  a  picture  of  you  and  call  it  'A  sociable 
evening  on  Juniper  Creek.'  Have  you  a  knife,  Ruth  ? 
This  pencil  is  dull." 

"So'm  I,"  said  Wallace.  Christine  turned  on  him 
wrathfully. 

"Willie  Wallace,  if  you  say  that  again,  I  shall  strike 
you.  You  have  kept  it  up  for  twenty-four  hours,  and 
I  am  so  tired  of  it  I  could  scream." 

"So'm  I,"  said  Wallace,  meekly,  and  she  had  to 
laugh. 

"Rory,  you  amuse  her,"  suggested  Ruth. 

"Tell  her  the  story  of  your  life,"  Wallace  added. 
Rory,  whose  idea  of  lounging  was  to  sit  bolt  upright 
on  a  very  hard  rock,  shook  her  head. 

"I  doubt  if  Christine  would  be  finding  it  amusing," 
she  said,  with  a  free-born  disregard  of  prefixes  that 
made  that  young  lady  lift  her  eyebrows. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Wallace. 

93 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  There's  no  men  in  it,"  was  the  dry  answer.  Even 
Christine  had  to  join  the  general  laugh. 

"Did  you  never  have  even  one  tiny  little  flir 
tation,  Rory?"  she  asked  with  good-humoured  con 
descension. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Rory,  coolly. 

"Good  for  you,  Rory  —  make  her  define  it,"  ap 
plauded  Will.  "Just  what  do  you  mean  by  flirtation, 
Christine?" 

"I  never  mean  anything  by  it,"  was  the  triumphant 
answer. 

"You  score,"  Wallace  admitted,  sinking  back  de 
jectedly  on  his  blankets.  "There's  no  use  trying  to 
beat  a  red-headed  girl.  Say,  did  you  mean  that?"  he 
added  a  moment  later. 

"Mean  what?" 

Even  Wallace,  for  once,  found  explanation  difficult. 
"Oh,  well,  nothing,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 

"I  think,"  mused  Christine,  "that  Willie  Wallie  is 
asking  me  my  intentions." 

"Well,  they're  honourable,  aren't  they?"  asked 
Ruth.  "I  have  been  asleep  three  times,"  she  added. 
"The  night  has  a  thousand  eyes,  but  they  seem  to 
shut  very  easily." 

Ellen  rose.     "Bed  time,"  she  announced. 

The  night  outfit  consisted  of  a  thick  flannel  suit, 
woollen  stockings  and  wrapper,  a  scarf  for  the  head 
and  a  long  bag  of  doubled  grey  blanket.  There  were 
also  extra  rugs  to  soften  their  beds  of  pine  twigs, 
which  Rory  had  prepared  before  supper.  She  had 

94 


DR.    ELLEN 

also  insisted  on  chopping  logs  for  the  night  fire,  irri 
tated  at  Amsden's  willing  but  unprofessional  strokes. 
Ellen  tucked  the  girls  up  within  the  circle  of  the  fire 
light,  then  retreated  with  her  bag  to  a  black  solitude 
sown  with  stars,  full  of  resinous  scents  and  a  marvellous 
silence.  Christine,  cowering  under  her  wraps,  ob 
viously  wished  that  their  guardian  men  need  not  sleep 
on  the  other  side  of  the  circle,  and  might  have  been 
heard  to  mutter  that  "the  proprieties  were  too  silly 
in  a  forest  full  of  wild  beasts;"  but  Ruth  in  the  bag 
beside  hers  had  already  gone  to  sleep  and  she  soon 
followed.  If  wild  beasts  stole  out  later  to  peer  at 
their  fire,  no  one  knew  it. 

Amsden  thought  at  first  it  was  daylight  that  had 
awakened  him,  but  as  his  eyes  cleared  he  found  himself 
staring  up  into  an  ancient,  jaded  moon,  looking  flushed 
and  decrepit  as  it  sagged  above  the  tree  tops.  The 
fire  still  showed  red  coals,  so,  slipping  on  his  clothes, 
he  softly  built  it  up,  then  lit  a  cigarette  and  sat  down 
with  his  back  against  a  rugged  trunk  to  revel  in  the 
solitary  beauty  of  the  hour.  The  night  was  not  cold 
and  he  must  have  dozed,  for  suddenly  he  discovered 
that  the  fire  had  sunk  to  a  glow  and  the  moon  was 
high  over  his  head.  His  cold  cigarette  was  still  be 
tween  his  fingers.  He  threw  it  away  and  was  about 
to  return  to  his  bed  when  a  sound  on  the  road  below 
checked  him.  This  road  was  little  more  than  a  trail 
and  led  only  to  an  abandoned  logging  camp,  yet  he 
thought  he  heard  wheels  and  the  creak  of  a  wagon. 
A  horse  whinnied  and  was  answered.  The  wheel 

95 


DR.    ELLEN 

sounds  ceased  and  seemed  to  be  followed  by  stealthy 
movements,  the  scraping  of  a  board,  then  slow  foot 
steps. 

"Fm  crazy  —  I'm  dreaming,"  he  assured  himself. 
"It  is  a  woodpecker  or  a  squirrel."  Nevertheless  he 
sat  rigidly  listening  in  the  inky  shadow.  Complete 
silence  seemed  to  have  fallen;  he  was  ready  to  smile 
at  his  startled  nerves  when  close  beside  him  came  the 
muffled  pad  of  cautious  feet  on  pine  needles,  and 
four  men  marched  past,  suddenly  revealed  by  the 
moonlight.  He  started  up,  then  hesitated,  watching 
with  tense  muscles.  Wallace  lay  sleeping  thirty  feet 
away,  his  own  empty  blankets  looking  like  another 
form  at  his  side,  but  the  men  paid  no  attention  to  him, 
or  to  the  shadow  where  the  women  slept.  Then 
Amsden  saw  that  they  carried  by  its  four  corners  some 
sort  of  a  box,  which  they  lowered  with  infinite  caution 
and  placed  on  the  ground  before  the  fire.  That  done, 
they  stole  away  as  softly  as  they  had  come,  and  a 
moment  later  he  heard  wheels  again,  going  recklessly 
fast  now. 

He  sprang  up  and  went  to  investigate  the  present 
they  had  left,  still  assuring  himself  that  there  must  be 
some  simple  and  rational  explanation  of  the  whole 
scene.  At  first  he  saw  only  that  it  was  an  open  black 
box;  then,  as  a  stick  blazed  up,  a  quick,  outraged 
"Good  God!"  sprang  to  his  lips.  For  it  was  a  rough 
counterfeit  of  a  child's  coffin  that  confronted  him,  and 
within,  cushioned  with  staring  white,  lay  a  horrible 
caricature  of  a  dead  child,  a  strangling  cloth  wound 

96 


DR.    ELLEN 

about  its  throat  and  on  its  breast  a  paper  with  "  Mur 
dered!"  printed  blackly  across  it. 

"Oh,  why  didn't  I  kill  them!"  he  muttered.  He 
would  have  attacked  them  single-handed  at  that  mo 
ment,  with  no  weapon  but  his  righteous  rage.  The 
one  thing  to  do  now  was  to  destroy  the  hideous  object 
before  anyone  else  had  seen  it,  and  he  gathered  it  up, 
then  stood  hesitating  over  the  method.  To  break  it 
with  the  axe  would  make  too  much  noise  in  these 
silent  woods,  no  matter  how  far  he  carried  it,  and  the 
fire  could  not  burn  it  whole.  Ghastly  as  the  idea  was, 
burial  seemed  to  be  the  only  way  to  be  rid  of  the 
thing.  He  set  it  down  and,  walking  noiselessly  in  his 
rubber-soled  shoes,  went  down  to  the  wagon  in  the 
hope  of  finding  some  implement  to  dig  with.  A  small 
shovel  had  been  put  in  for  roasting  potatoes,  and 
armed  with  this  he  hurried  back. 

He  was  too  late.  Before  the  coffin  stood  a  motion 
less  figure,  looking  tall  and  austere  in  her  straight 
grey  wrapper,  her  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  the  effigy  with 
its  staring  label. 

"Oh,  I  wanted  to  spare  you  —  I  didn't  want  you  to 
see  it,"  broke  from  Amsden.  She  motioned  caution. 
Her  eyes  as  she  lifted  them  seemed  to  him  desolately 
sad,  but  her  voice  was  quiet  and  natural. 

"I  saw  them  come  and  leave  it,"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone.  "I  thought  I  recognized  them  —  did  you?" 

"I  have  seen  them  hanging  about  the  saloons;  I 
don't  know  their  names." 

"Well,  it  does  not  matter.  How  shall  we  get  rid  of 
97 


DR.    ELLEN 

it?"  He  told  her  reluctantly  of  his  plan  to  bury  it, 
but  she  nodded  quiet  approval.  "I  can  lead  you  to 
the  best  place,"  she  said,  when  he  begged  her  not  to 
come,  and  set  out  ahead  of  him  along  a  winding  trail, 
dimly  lit  by  the  moon. 

The  box  was  heavy,  and  his  shoulder  ached  with  its 
weight  before  she  brought  him  to  the  edge  of  a  mar 
vellous  little  meadow  no  bigger  than  a  room,  walled 
with  crowded  pines  and  carpeted  with  thick,  fine  grass. 
Through  the  centre  wound  a  baby  stream,  and  the 
grass  was  starred  with  tiny  white  flowers,  here  and 
there  a  pale  orchid  rising  slenderly  above  their  heads. 
The  ground  was  spongy  with  water,  and,  laying  his 
burden  in  the  shadow,  Amsden  silently  set  to  work. 
She  stood  beside  him  in  her  straight  grey  gown  like 
some  priestess  of  a  strange  rite,  and  her  very  stillness 
seemed  to  give  him  a  new  knowledge  of  her.  He  felt 
her  strength;  her  deep  capacity  for  sorrow,  and  her 
power  to  put  it  by;  her  warmth  and  her  sane  readiness 
for  happiness  when  it  came;  the  touch  of  divine  mys 
tery  that  lies  about  those  who  wholly  lack  self -conscious 
ness.  When  the  hole  was  dug  he  looked  up  into  her 
face,  and  his  anger  flamed  again. 

"I  could  kill  them!"  he  said  between  his  teeth. 

"Ah,  they  don't  know,  they  don't  know!"  she  mur 
mured.  As  he  lifted  the  box  she  took  one  end  from 
him  and  they  lowered  it  together  into  its  place.  The 
moonlight  showed  with  horrible  plainness  the  cari 
catured  child  as  she  stood  looking  down  on  it;  her 
heavy  braid,  hanging  over  her  shoulder,  shadowed  her 

98 


DR.    ELLEN 

face,  but  Amsden  saw  her  hands  clench  and  heard 
her  shuddered  "Oh,  God,  God!" 

He  dropped  his  shovel,  and  putting  his  arm  about 
her  turned  her  away. 

"Dear  woman,  don't,  don't  care  so,"  he  begged. 
Her  knuckles  were  driven  against  her  mouth. 

"It  isn't  that  — oh,  it  isn't  that!"  she  said  in  a 
broken  voice;  and  then  Amsden  remembered  that  she 
had  borne  and  lost  a  child. 

She  sank  down  on  a  fallen  trunk,  and  laid  her  fore 
head  on  her  knees,  her  arms  clasping  them  about. 
He  felt  her  mute  appeal  to  be  left  alone,  and,  turning 
helplessly  from  her,  he  spent  his  passion  of  sympathy 
in  hiding  the  brutal  thing.  It  was  weirdly  like  a  real 
burial  as  the  earth  covered  the  coffin,  with  the  moon 
lighting  the  white  orchids  of  the  tiny  meadow,  and  the 
bowed  woman  beside  him,  her  braid  falling  to  her 
feet.  When  the  grave  was  filled  he  dragged  a  dead 
branch  over  the  place,  then  sat  down  near  her  and 
waited.  The  mellow  moonlight  was  fading  before  the 
clean,  new  white  of  dawn  when  she  lifted  her  head. 
Whatever  had  passed,  her  face  was  clear  and  quiet 
again. 

"You  should  have  gone  back,"  she  said.  "You 
must  be  cold  and  tired." 

"  No.  Shall  you  do  anything  about  this  ?"  he  added. 
"Or  will  you  let  me?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "What  is  there  to  do?  I 
can't  believe  that  Spaulding  had  any  hand  in  it.  Those 
rough  young  fellows  are  always  looking  about  for 

99 


DR.    ELLEN 

mischief;  they  would  champion  a  cause  simply  as  an 
excuse  for  making  trouble.  No;  I  shall  win  in  time 
without  fighting  back." 

She  rose  and  turned  to  the  trail,  and  Amsden,  fol 
lowing,  believed  that  he  was  again  forgotten.  But  at 
the  camp  she  paused  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"I  am  more  grateful  than  I  show,"  she  said  with  an 
effort.  "You  know  it,  don't  you?" 

"Yes.  Good-night."  He  stole  back  to  his  blankets 
without  arousing  Wallace.  Neither  of  them  had  seen 
a  head  sharply  lifted,  and  two  startled  eyes  staring  at 
them  from  Christine's  couch. 

The  morning  was  not  a  success.  Wallace  declared 
that  he  had  not  closed  his  eyes  all  night,  and,  as  no 
one  cared  to  dispute  the  statement,  he  was  left  to  doze 
in  peace  over  a  magazine.  Christine  was  mysterious 
and  haughty,  and  avoided  Ellen  so  pointedly  that  only 
Ellen  herself  failed  to  notice  it.  Ellen's  eyes,  on  meet 
ing  Amsden's,  had  not  shown  the  faintest  memory  of 
a  secret  held  between  them,  and,  after  a  momentary 
disappointment,  he  liked  her  for  it,  his  brief  engage 
ment  having  taught  him  that  the  power  to  forget  the 
night  before  would  be  a  valuable  morning  trait  in 
woman.  She  was  absent-minded,  however,  and  soon 
disappeared  by  herself.  Rory,  to  whom  idleness  was 
a  physical  impossibility,  went  off  with  Ellen's  two 
saddle  horses,  to  give  them  a  lesson  in  jumping,  and 
Amsden  showed  a  strong  tendency  to  follow  Wallace's 
example. 

100 


DR.    ELLEN 

"I  never  saw  such  a  stupid  set,"  Ruth  exclaimed  at 
last.  "This  is  a  pleasure  trip,  not  a  rest  cure!  What 
you  all  need  is  a  good  tramp  to  wake  you  up.  Come 
on!"  She  jumped  up  and  dragged  Christine  to  her 
feet.  "Let's  eat  some  lunch  now  and  go  over  to  old 
Tamarack.  We  can  get  nearly  to  the  top  if  we  start 
soon." 

"Do  you  know  the  way?"  asked  Christine. 

"  Yes,  of  course.  I  have  been  dozens  of  times  —  I 
mean  twice,"  she  added  with  a  laugh.  "Come,  every 
body,  and  just  eat;  we  won't  spread  the  tablecloth." 

Christine,  still  reserved,  finally  consented  to  go,  and 
Wallace  was  dragged  groaning  from  his  retreat.  They 
pinned  a  note  for  Ellen  on  a  pine  trunk,  and  presently 
set  out,  plodding  in  single  file  along  a  narrow  trail. 
The  sun  was  hot,  and  the  distance  proved  greater  than 
Ruth  had  remembered :  they  were  still  far  from  Tama 
rack's  great  flank  when  Christine  planted  herself  on  a 
bank  and  declared  that  she  had  had  enough. 

"Me,  too,"  echoed  Wallace,  whose  plump  face  was 
a  deep,  even  pink.  "The  view  may  be  all  that  you 
say,  Ruth,  but  I'd  rather  see  a  bath  tub  and  a  whiskey 
and  soda  than  the  grandest  vista  ever  —  visited." 

"You  won't  see  those  at  the  camp." 

"Well,  there  is  beer  and  the  creek,  Miss  Literal." 

Ruth  turned  to  Amsden.  "  Suppose  we  go  on  with 
out  them?  They  are  only  cry-babies,  anyway."  He 
was  willing  enough  to  go  on,  though  he  wondered  a 
little  at  Christine's  dissatisfaction  with  the  arrange 
ment;  she  was  usually  more  than  willing  to  be  left 

101 


DR.    ELLEN 

tete-k-tete  with  Wallace.  She  tried  to  make  Ruth 
turn  back,  and  still  sat  looking  uneasily  after  her  when 
she  disappeared  with  Amsden. 

"I  don't  like  leaving  her  alone  with  That  Man," 
she  said,  the  corners  of  her  mouth  tightening.  Wallace 
dropped  the  handkerchief  with  which  he  was  patting 
his  moist  forehead. 

"Oh,  come  off,  Christine,"  he  exclaimed.  "What's 
got  into  you  ?  Amsden  is  the  straightest  chap  I  know." 
Her  eyebrows  went  up  expressively,  but  she  said  noth 
ing.  "Now,  see  here!"  She  had  never  seen  him  so 
nearly  indignant.  "You  had  better  tell  me  what  you 
mean,  for,  whatever  it  is,  you're  dead  wrong." 

"Oh,  no  doubt.  And  I  dare  say  Dr.  Ellen  is  just 
as  perfectly  above  suspicion  in  every  way,  isn't 
she?" 

"You  can  bet  your  life  on  that,"  said  Wallace,  so 
gravely  that  she  was  piqued  into  plain  speech. 

"Well,  then,  what  were  they  doing  off  together  in 
the  woods  before  daylight?"  she  demanded. 

"Looking  after  the  horses,  no  doubt;  building  up  the 
fire;  anything." 

"As  you  please,"  she  shrugged.  "I  only  know  that 
I  had  been  awake  an  hour  at  the  very  least,  when  they 
suddenly  appeared  together  out  of  the  depths  of  the 
woods.  He  held  her  hand  and  they  whispered  a 
moment,  then  separated.  I  never  was  so  upset  in 
my  life." 

Wallace  said  nothing  at  first,  and  she  thought  him 
overwhelmed  by  her  information  until  he  turned  to 

102 


DR.    ELLEN 

her;  then  she  found  in  the  boyishly  good-natured  face 
a  sternness  before  which  she  secretly  quailed. 

"Christine,  there  are  a  few  things  in  this  world  so 
sure  that  no  human  evidence  can  touch  them,"  he 
began,  "and  one  of  these  is  Ellen  Chantry.  I  don't 
care  if  she  and  Amsden  went  off  together  for  a  week  — 
I  should  know  it  was  all  right,  some  way  or  other. 
Now  you  just  take  my  word  for  it,  and  don't  you  ever 
think  of  what  you  saw  again  —  much  less  speak 
of  it." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  what  explanation  there  can  be," 
she  objected  sulkily. 

"What  do  you  want  an  explanation  for?"  was  the 
wrathful  answer.  "Don't  you  know  Ellen?  And 
isn't  that  enough  for  you?" 

"Yes,  quite  enough  for  me!"  said  Christine,  her 
chin  in  the  air,  and  they  marched  nearly  to  the  camp 
in  cold  silence.  Then,  seeing  that  he  would  not  weaken, 
she  put  away  her  resentment  and  sent  a  plaintive, 
"Wil-lie!"  after  his  uncompromising  back. 

"Well?"  he  said,  without  turning. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  cross  at  me  all  the  rest  of  the 
day?" 

"I  am  not  cross  at  you,  Christine." 

"You  just  don't  like  me  very  well?" 

He  hesitated.  "You  did  give  me  a  jolt,"  he  con 
fessed. 

She  came  closer  and  put  her  hand  through  his  arm. 
"Christine  is  sorry,"  she  murmured. 

"But  is  Christine  convinced?"  he  asked,  not  looking 


DR.    ELLEN 

at  her.    Her  fingers  slipped  down  to  the  hand  in  his 
coat  pocket. 

"Of  course,  only  she  hates  to  admit  it!" 

Wallace  melted  at  once.  "Then  it  is  all  right,"  he 
said,  smiling  on  her.  "By  Jove,  I  wonder  what  this 
queer  little  thing  in  my  pocket  is?" 

"In  your  pocket?"  She  was  eager  curiosity  per 
sonified.  "Take  it  out  and  let  Christine  see." 

"No:  she  is  too  young.    I  shall  keep  it  to  myself." 

"  Oh,  Willie,  please  show  me  what  is  in  your  pocket!" 
she  begged.  "What  is  it  like?" 

"Well,  it's  soft,  and  small,  and  warm  —  and  a  trifle 
sticky—" 

She  caught  her  hand  away  with  an  indignant  laugh. 
"Horrid  man!  It  isn't,"  she  declared. 

"It  is.     Come  here  to  the  brook  and  wash  it." 

They  had  reached  the  camp,  but  no  one  was  in 
sight,  so  he  took  her  by  the  shoulder  and  marched  her 
to  a  gravelly  pool.  All  the  little  girls  in  the  world 
boiled  into  one  could  not  have  been  so  little-girlish  as 
Christine,  trotting  meekly  beside  him.  When  her  very 
pretty  hands  had  been  well  rinsed,  she  offered  them 
for  his  inspection,  looking  up  with  anxious  gravity. 
He  turned  them  over,  then  expressed  his  approval 
with  a  matter-of-course  kiss  on  one  cheek. 

"Yes,  that's  a  good  girl,"  he  said  encouragingly. 
She  sprang  up,  flushing. 

"Will  Wallace!  How  dare  you!"  she  began  in 
outraged  tones:  then  laughter  was  too  much  for  them 
and  they  frankly  shouted. 

104 


DR.    ELLEN 

"What  is  the  joke?"  asked  Ellen,  appearing  from 
the  woods  across  the  brook. 

"It  couldn't  be  repeated,"  said  Christine,  making 
an  effort  at  cordiality. 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  commented  Wallace,  who  was 
looking  exceedingly  pleased  with  himself.  "I  think 
the  oftener  it  was  repeated  — " 

"Will,  be  still!"  commanded  Christine.  "Wre  have 
had  such  a  broiling  walk,  Dr.  Ellen:  you  were  lucky 
not  to  be  with  us."  But,  for  all  her  friendliness,  her 
narrowed  eyes  said,  "I'd  like  to  know  what  you  were 
up  to  last  night,  just  the  same,  my  superior  woman  1" 


IX 

AMSDEN  took  little  heed  where  Ruth  led  him,  glad 
of  her  contented  silence.  She  was  a  pleasant  fact  in 
his  life,  something  he  was  going  to  think  about  pres 
ently;  but  just  now  he  was  struggling  to  reconcile  the 
Ellen  with  whom  he  had  so  just  a  quarrel  with  the 
impression  left  on  him  by  the  Ellen  of  last  night.  It 
was  a  hopeless  business  and  ended  by  irritating  him. 
He  turned  back  to  Ruth  with  relief. 

"How  do  you  know  the  way?"  he  asked.  "I  can't 
see  any  trail." 

"Oh,  as  long  as  we  are  going  up  hill,  we  are  bound 
to  reach  the  top,"  she  explained  light-heartedly.  "We 
got  off  the  trail  some  time  ago,  but  I  knew  we  should 
find  it  again  up  there,  so  I  didn't  bother." 

She  seemed  so  at  home,  leading  the  way  up  the 
sharp  ascent,  that  Amsden,  knowing  little  of  wood 
craft,  left  the  matter  comfortably  to  her.  They 
emerged  presently  above  the  timber  line  and,  by 
agreement,  climbed  to  the  bald,  stony  summit  without 
looking  up,  that  the  full  glory  of  the  view  might  burst 
on  them  at  once.  When,  at  Ruth's  "Now!"  they 
turned  to  face  the  prospect,  Amsden  was  disappointed. 
Instead  of  being  poised  on  a  solitary  peak  high  above 

106 


Dk.    ELLEN 

a  rolling  sea  of  crests,  they  seemed  to  be  on  the  end 
of  a  long,  bleak  ridge,  no  higher  than  its  neighbours 
and  offering  little  outlook. 

"Why,  we  can  do  better  than  this  at  the  cabin  door," 
he  exclaimed. 

Ruth,  after  a  long,  silent  look  in  every  direction,  sat 
down  on  a  stone  with  her  chin  on  her  knuckles  and 
sent  him  a  guilty,  furtive,  amused  smile. 

"The  trouble  is,  you  see,"  she  confessed,  "this  isn't 
Tamarack." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

"And  where  has  Tamarack  gone?" 

"I  don't  know  that  either."  They  laughed  at  them 
selves,  at  their  hot,  steep  climb  for  this  puny  result. 
"I  thought  we  were  getting  to  the  top  remarkably 
soon,"  she  admitted.  He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Not  so  very  soon,  either,"  he  exclaimed.  "Do 
you  know  that  it  is  after  four?"  She  rose  slowly  and 
stood  studying  the  mountains  to  the  west. 

"Of  course,  we  have  come  from  over  there  some 
where;  but  it  doesn't  look  so  very  familiar,"  she  said, 
showing  for  the  first  time  a  touch  of  uneasiness. 

"But  if  we  go  down  here  where  we  came  up,  can't 
we  strike  the  trail  we  were  following?" 

"Yes,  I  hope  so.  We  must  try  it,  anyway."  But 
Ruth,  who  knew  something  of  the  ways  of  mountains, 
still  stood  looking  in  vain  for  a  familiar  outline.  "  Well, 
we  know  our  general  direction  —  we'll  cling  to  that," 
she  said  anxiously,  starting  down. 

107 


DR.    ELLEN 

This  was  not  difficult  so  long  as  the  western  sun 
beams  slanted  through  every  gap  in  the  trees.  When 
an  opening  gave  them  a  glimpse  of  Tamarack,  looming 
far  behind  them  on  the  right,  they  went  forward  with 
new  courage. 

"We  didn't  lose  the  old  mountain,  we  just  mislaid 
it,"  Ruth  explained,  gay  with  relief.  "Now  I  have 
some  idea  where  we  are." 

"Aren't  you  very  tired?"  Amsden  asked.  She 
smiled  at  him  with  quick  gratitude  for  the  sympathy 
in  his  voice. 

"No,  really,"  she  asserted. 

A  distant  mountain  shouldered  between  them  and 
the  sun,  and  presently  even  the  glow  was  cut  off  as 
they  plunged  down  and  down,  making  an  arduous 
short-cut  in  the  hope  of  striking  the  lost  trail.  The 
sparse  woods  grew  more  dense;  half  an  hour  was  spent 
in  crossing  a  thorny  ravine,  and  twilight  was  already 
upon  them  when  they  emerged,  scratched  and  panting, 
on  the  other  side.  They  were  less  sure  of  their  direc 
tion  now,  but  they  did  not  say  so. 

The  woods  that  closed  about  them  took  on  a  for 
bidding  character;  not  a  blade  of  grass,  not  a  bush  or 
a  young  shoot  softened  the  austerity  of  the  bare,  hard 
ground,  harsh  with  rocks  or  slippery  with  needles. 
The  pine  trunks  were  so  close  together  that  the  lower 
branches  had  died  for  lack  of  sun  and  air,  spreading 
a  roof  of  death  and  decay  above  their  heads.  In  the 
crevices  of  the  rocks  were  holes  before  which  lay  sin 
ister  fragments  —  a  whorl  of  desperate  feathers  or  tiny, 

108 


DR.    ELLEN 

broken  bones,  showing  that  the  dense  silence  was  not 
imtenanted,  and  adding  a  belittling  touch  of  forlorn 
disorder.  All  the  beauty  and  majesty  of  pines  was 
lost;  they  appeared  stark,  dismal,  blighted  with  degra 
dation  and  death.  Ruth  came  closer  to  Amsden  and 
finally  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  so  they  went  on  until 
the  dusk  was  nearly  darkness  and  their  cheerful  talk 
died  out  unnoticed. 

"I  am  rather  afraid,"  she  said  suddenly.  He  drew 
her  closer. 

"I  don't  wonder!  But  it  must  end  sometime  — 
no  human  forest  could  last  much  longer  than  this 
has." 

"  Unless  we  are  going  in  circles." 

That  well-known  possibility  had  been  haunting 
Amsden  and  he  had  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  recurrent 
landmarks;  but  he  answered  lightly: 

"  Oh,  we  should  have  come  across  one  of  your  combs 
by  this  time,  or  a  handkerchief,  if  we  were.  They 
always  do." 

"But  I  haven't  lost  anything,"  she  objected 
seriously. 

"You  seem  to  have  lost  your  way." 

"If  you  knew  more  about  mountains,  you  wouldn't 
joke  —  you  would  be  frightened,  too." 

"But  we  are  not  so  very  badly  lost,  after  all.  We 
can't  be  more  than  a  few  miles  from  the  camp,  whether 
we  find  it  or  not." 

"Well,  if  a  few  miles  from  supper  and  bed  satisfies 
you!  It  is  getting  so  dark  —  I  wish  we  could  come 

109 


DR.    ELLEN 

out  someXvhere.  I  know  now  why  they  called  the 
woods  'horridus'  in  Latin.  This  is  the  most  horridus 
wood  I  ever  saw  " 

"It  is  —  a  grubby,  degraded  slum  of  a  wood." 
Amsden  spoke  quickly,  keeping  himself  between  her 
and  a  low-hanging  rock  on  his  left,  from  beneath 
which  two  flat  discs  of  green  fire  were  turned  towards 
them.  "I  didn't  suppose  a  forest  could  go  down  hill 
to  such  an  extent;  it  is  no  fit  place  for  a  lady."  The 
disks  were  too  far  apart  to  belong  to  a  little  animal; 
their  position  must  mean  some  big  head  pressed  on 
the  ground,  and  he  seemed  to  see  a  bristling  outline 
about  them  in  their  black  retreat.  "We  certainly 
haven't  been  here  before,  for  the  branches  are  getting 
lower  and  lower.  We  shall  have  to  go  on  our  hands 
and  knees  presently."  They  were  safely  past  now; 
furtive  glances  backwards  showed  no  green  lamps 
tracking  them,  and  he  fell  into  relieved  silence.  Sud 
denly  Ruth  stopped  short. 

"If  another  branch  jabs  me  in  the  head,  I  shall 
scream!"  she  whimpered.  "I  am  so  tired  of  being 
hurt.  It's  not  fair  to  hurt  me  like  that!"  She  was  so 
like  Poppy  in  her  despair  that  Amsden  could  have 
laughed  outright. 

"It  is  outrageous,"  he  sympathized.  "Keep  close 
behind  me,  that  will  break  a  way  for  you." 

She  obeyed  and  they  went  forward  in  Indian  file. 
The  character  of  the  wood  was  changing;  presently 
they  were  confronted  with  a  dense  wall  of  undergrowth. 
Amsden  forced  his  way  into  it  for  a  few  feet,  then  came 

no 


DR.    ELLEN 

struggling  back  to  where  Ruth  stood  staring  miserably 
after  him. 

"Oh,  don't  leave  me  again!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
would  rather  be  lost  forever  than  stay  another  minute 
by  myself.  Please  don't." 

He  promised,  but  felt  a  touch  of  impatience  in  place 
of  the  typical  male  pride  of  protect! veness ;  and  was 
not  too  absorbed  to  wonder  at  it  a  little  as  they  fol 
lowed  the  edge  of  the  thicket.  The  world's  old  gen 
eralizations  made  courage  and  independence  scarcely 
necessary  to  woman's  charm;  yet  in  that  moment  he 
had  a  warming  vision  of  a  figure  in  a  straight  grey 
gown,  marked  only  by  the  shining  line  of  her  braid, 
leading  him  without  word  or  look  through  the  moonlit 
forest. 

The  ground  under  their  feet  sloped  up  and  presently 
they  were  climbing  with  new  hope,  seeing  a  glimmer  of 
light  ahead.  Fifteen  minutes  later  they  emerged  on  a 
clear  hillside  under  the  open  sky.  A  film  of  cloud  hid 
the  stars  that  might  have  guided  them,  and  the  sur 
rounding  hills  were  only  denser  masses  in  the  semi  dark 
ness,  yet  they  had  a  rejoicing  sense  of  being  no  longer 
lost.  At  the  top  Ruth  dropped  down  in  tired  silence. 

"Well,  there  is  just  one  thing  to  be  done,"  Amsden 
decided.  "We  are  fairly  high  here;  I  shall  build  a 
fire  and  let  them  find  us.  It  is  ignominious,  but 
practical." 

"I  will  help,"  said  Ruth,  pulling  herself  up.  He 
pushed  her  gently  down  again  and,  taking  off  his  coat, 
wrapped  it  about  her. 

in 


DR.    ELLEN 

"You  stay  there,"  he  ordered. 

A  shelf  of  rock  just  beside  them  jutted  out  from  the 
hillside,  and  on  this  he  piled  brush  and  sticks.  When 
he  came  back  to  get  matches  from  his  coat  he  found 
Ruth  asleep.  He  tried  to  take  them  without  disturbing 
her,  but  her  eyes  opened. 

"Philip?"  she  said  sleepily. 

"Yes,  Ruth.  I  want  to  get  the  matches."  His 
hand  touched  hers  in  the  darkness,  and,  finding  them 
cold,  he  held  them  for  a  moment.  Then  he  started 
up.  "  Come  close  to  the  fire ;  you  have  been  so  heated," 
he  commanded  abruptly.  When  the  blaze  was  going 
he  busied  himself  gathering  more  wood.  It  was  half 
an  hour  before  he  sat  down  opposite  her,  his  hands 
clasping  his  shirt- sleeved  arms. 

"You  must  have  your  coat,"  she  said,  sitting  up 
and  beginning  to  take  it  off. 

"I  don't  want  it,  really." 

"But  you  must.    I  shan't  feel  comfortable.    Here!" 

"Ruth,  put  that  on  again  at  once." 

"I  won't." 

"Then  I  shall  come  and  put  it  on  you  by  force." 

"I  don't  want  your  old  coat.    I'm  roasting." 

"It  does  not  matter  in  the  least  what  you  want.  Do 
you  intend  to  put  it  on?" 

"Please,  Mr.  Amsden,  it  would  worry  me  so  —  I 
have  on  loads  more  clothes  than  you  have.  You 
wouldn't  want  to  worry  me,  would  you?" 

"But,  child,  there  is  nothing  to  worry  about.  I 
never  take  cold  —  while  if  you  should,  your  sister  will 

112 


DR.    ELLEN 

pack  me  off  to  town  by  the  next  train."  He  came 
over  and  kneeling  beside  her  held  up  the  coat.  "Here, 
now.  No  more  nonsense."  She  looked  up  at  him 
very  much  as  Nell  and  Poppy  did  when  it  was  advisable 
to  see  how  far  he  was  in  earnest.  He  was  rash  enough 
to  smile;  whereupon  she  closed  her  eyes  with  a  sup 
pressed  laugh  and  curled  down  tighter  on  the  ground. 
"Very  well,  then."  He  took  one  arm  and  thrust  it, 
unresisting  but  helplessly  limp,  into  the  sleeve,  and 
lifted  her,  a  wicked  dead  weight  with  eyes  still  screwed 
shut,  to  find  the  other  arm.  Then  he  buttoned  the 
coat  under  her  chin  and  laid  her  down  with  emphasis. 
Her  eyes  opened  suddenly,  laughing,  gleaming  with 
life,  absolutely  innocent  of  intention;  he  laughed  with 
her,  but  abruptly  rose  to  his  feet  and  turned  to  pile 
more  wood  on  the  fire. 

"Oh,  for  a  beefsteak!"  he  exclaimed.  "Were  you 
ever  so  hungry  in  your  life?  See  if  there  are  any 
cigarettes  in  that  coat."  She  felt  in  the  pockets  and 
gave  a  small  shriek  of  delight  as  a  package  of  chocolate 
was  discovered. 

"I  am  sure  I  never  put  it  there,"  he  exclaimed, 
falling  on  his  half.  "I  always  knew  you  were  clever 
—  feel  again  and  see  if  you  can't  find  some  lamb 
chops  or  even  a  few  baked  apples." 

"I  gave  it  to  you  yesterday  when  we  were  starting 
out.  Wasn't  it  beautiful  that  we  forgot  it!  Yes,  here 
are  some  cigarettes  —  only  two,  though.  I  think  you 
ought  to  let  me  have  one." 

"Assuredly.    I  didn't  know  you  used  them." 
"3 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Well,  I  don't.  Christine  showed  me  how,  but  I 
thought  them  very  nasty.  She  says  all  the  nice  girls 
do  it  now.  Do  they  really?" 

"I  know  one  nice  girl  who  evidently  does  not." 
It  was  pleasant  to  say  such  things  to  Ruth,  she  enjoyed 
them  so  frankly. 

"But  how  do  you  feel  about  it?"  she  persisted. 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  feel  at  all.  I  mean,  if  I  like  a 
girl,  I  like  what  she  does;  and  if  I  don't  like  her  she 
may  take  to  a  pipe  for  all  I  care." 

"That  seems  to  me  rather  unprincipled,"  commented 
Ruth.  "I  sometimes  think  you  don't  say  to  me  the 
things  you  really  mean,"  she  added  wistfully. 

Her  penetration  startled  Amsden,  and  even  discon 
certed  him.  He  had  scarcely  acknowledged  to  himself 
how  little  part  in  this  lazy  summer  intercourse  his  real 
self  had  taken,  and  just  now,  with  Ruth  sunning  her 
self  like  a  little  lizard  in  the  happiness  of  the  hour,  he 
did  not  want  to  remember  it.  He  had  tried  once  or 
twice  when  he  first  came  to  draw  the  talk  away  from 
the  eternal  personal,  but  she  had  no  interest  in  any 
thing  else,  so  he  had  amusedly  followed  her  lead, 
content  to  keep  his  real  interests  to  himself  and  to  let 
her  flash  back  and  forth  undisturbed  in  the  tiny  walled 
garden  of  her  desires.  The  fact  that  she  did  not  fulfil 
his  ideal  of  companionship  had  not  troubled  him  then: 
now  it  brought  a  quick  impatience  with  himself. 
There  was  a  battle  on  to-night,  a  battle  so  active  that 
he  had  forgotten  their  precarious  position,  the  anxiety 
at  the  camp,  everything  but  the  warning  knowledge 

114 


DR.    ELLEN 

that  if  he  crossed  over  to  where  Ruth  lay,  he  should  be 
sealing  up  in  eternal  loneliness  the  self  that  had 
given  hearth  and  home  to  the  man  all  these  years; 
and  a  sharp  realization  that  if  that  tired  little 
hand,  flung  on  the  ground  palm  up,  were  held  out 
to  him,  loyalty  to  the  secret  self  would  not  have 
the  power  of  a  straw  to  hold  the  man  back.  Yet 
he  sat  quiet  and  impenetrable  behind  his  cigar 
ette,  his  hands  clasping  his  shirt-sleeved  arms,  let 
ting  the  night  decide  the  battle  as  it  would.  Ruth, 
as  untroubled  as  he  by  their  situation,  since  she 
was  warm  and  happy,  kept  the  issue  at  bay  by  her 
very  unconsciousness. 

"Do  you  say  to  me  what  you  really  mean?"  she 
repeated. 

"When  I  think  it  would  amuse  you,"  he  replied 
quite  honestly.  She  was  satisfied  with  that. 

"We  always  talk  about  nice  things,  you  and  I." 
she  said.  "Now  Ellen  likes  to  talk  about  things  in  the 
newspapers  and  general,  abstract  topics  that  nobody 
cares  anything  about,  really.  I  suppose  that  is  why 
I  have  so  much  more  fun  with  Christine." 

"What  do  you  and  she  talk  about?" 

"  Oh,  clothes  and  men  and  good  times  —  all  the  nice, 
human  things.  Men  don't  talk  together  when  they're 
alone  the  way  we  do,"  she  added. 

"How  do  you  know,  since  you  aren't  there?" 

"Oh,  I  know!  Now  and  then  one  says  something 
and  the  other  gives  a  little  grunt;  and  presently  he  says 
something,  and  the  first  one  gives  a  grunt;  and  at  the 

"5 


DR.    ELLEN 

end  of  an  hour  that  is  all  that  has  happened,  except 
their  cigars." 

He  laughed.  "You  have  been  eaves- dropping,"  he 
accused  her. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it.  You  and  Will  were  sitting  under 
my  window  all  the  time  I  was  dressing,  the  other  day." 

"We  were  being  cautious.  If  your  window  had  not 
been  there,  we  should  have  been  talking  passionately 
about  waistcoats  and  girls  and  'all  the  nice  human 
things/  instead  of  merely  grunting." 

"  You  are  making  fun  of  me,  but  I  am  so  comfortable 
I  don't  care.  Do  you  know,"  she  added  presently, 
curling  down  closer  to  the  ground  with  her  cheek 
pillowed  on  her  arm,  "I  think  we  are  both  going  to 
remember  this  evening  all  our  lives.  We  were  so  lost 
and  hungry  and  tired  and  frightened,  and  then  we  got 
out  of  all  that  horror  and  found  something  to  eat  and 
had  the  fire  and  gave  up  worrying  —  so  that  it  will  all 
stamp  itself  in  a  lovely  little  warm  picture  on  our 
memories.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Yes;  I  think  we  shall  remember  it,"  he  said  quietly. 

"If  it  weren't  for  worrying  them,  I  shouldn't  mind 
very  much  if  we  had  to  stay  here  all  night  —  should 
you?"  she  went  on.  "The  ground  is  rather  hard,  but 
there  is  plenty  of  wood,  and  it's  so  nice  being  just  our 
two  selves  —  don't  you  think  so?"  She  smiled 
drowsily  at  him.  "Don't  you  like  it  here?" 

He  rose  without  answering,  and  plunged  down  into 
the  darkness  beneath  them,  returning  some  time  later 
unnecessarily  laden  with  sticks  and  brush. 

116 


DR.    ELLEN 

"What  time  is  it?"  she  asked,  starting  from  a  doze. 

"I  don't  dare  look."  He  threw  an  armful  of  brush 
on  the  fire,  sending  the  blaze  high  above  his  head,  as 
he  stood  outlined  against  it. 

"Ah,  I  know  you  are  cold!"  Her  voice  had  a 
troubled  warmth.  "Won't  you  take  your  coat  now?" 

"Truly,  I  don't  need  it." 

"Please  —  Philip!"  He  looked  down  into  her  up 
turned  face,  and  forgot  to  answer.  "We  may  have  to 
stay  here  all  night,  you  know,"  she  went  on,  still  with 
her  firelit  face  lifted  to  his.  "I  couldn't  sleep  a  mo 
ment,  thinking  of  you  over  there  all  cold.  Don't 
make  me!"  His  back  was  to  the  fire,  so  that  his  face 
was  in  darkness,  but  the  quality  of  his  silence  suddenly 
reached  her,  and  though  she  did  not  understand,  she 
was  startled.  "What  is  it?  You  hear  something?" 
she  asked  breathlessly. 

Truly,  he  heard  things:  heard  the  ancient  call  of  the 
blood  to  take  this  child  in  his  arms  and  keep  her  there : 
heard  still  above  that  cry  the  stubborn  protest,  "Not 
this,  not  yet!  Wait!" 

"Ruth!"  he  said  desperately,  as  though  she  could 
help  him.  "Ruth!" 

Then  through  the  inner  tumult  came  a  sound  from 
without,  faint  and  distant  yet  unmistakable,  a  human 
call.  It  came  again,  Ellen's  resonant  voice  with  its 
contralto  note.  He  whirled  about,  shouting  his  answer 
across  the  darkness  to  a  pinhead  of  light  that  meant  a 
waving  torch,  shouting  it  joyously  in  the  glory  of  free 
dom,  of  escape.  For  in  a  flash  the  battle  was  over,  and 

117 


DR.    ELLEN 

the  victory  lay,  clearly  and  forever,  with  the  self  that 
could  wait  and  hope,  but  could  not  compromise. 
And  Ruth,  all  unconscious,  shouted  happily  beside 
him. 


118 


EVERYONE  slept  late  in  the  morning,  and  after  break 
fast,  Ruth,  who  was  evidently  over-tired,  went  back  to 
her  blankets  and  slept  heavily  through  all  their  prepa 
rations  for  departure.  Ellen  put  off  starting  till  noon. 
She  seemed  worried  and  abstracted,  and  Amsden 
fancied  she  was  thoroughly  glad  that  their  pleasure 
excursion  was  over.  The  trip  back  to  the  camp,  the 
night  before,  had  proved  surprisingly  simple  with 
torches  and  shouts  to  guide  them.  No  one  had  seemed 
seriously  worried  by  their  adventure  except  Christine, 
who  welcomed  Ruth  solicitously  and  pointedly  avoided 
speaking  to  Amsden  at  their  late  supper.  By  morning 
she  had  slept  off  her  unexplained  resentment,  and 
would  even,  in  Ruth's  absence,  have  exchanged  Wallace 
for  Amsden  had  the  latter  shown  any  disposition  to  be 
monopolized.  He  obviously  preferred  grooming  the 
horses  under  Rory's  patronizing  instructions,  and  so 
presently  she  went  for  a  walk  with  Wallace,  a  walk 
evidently  destined  to  end  at  the  first  spot  that  invited 
lounging. 

Rory,  after  rubbing  up  the  harness,  backed  the 
wagon  into  the  creek  and  began  washing  its  wheels. 

"Why  not  do  that  when  you  get  home?"  Amsden 
119 


DR.    ELLEN 

asked,  giving  the  brush  a  professional  scrape  on  the 
currycomb  and  approaching  with  some  caution  the 
rakish  hind  quarters  of  the  black. 

"And  Dr.  Ellen  ride  home  in  it  looking  like  that? 
I  guess  not." 

Her  scorn  of  the  idea  gave  him  an  amused  suspicion. 
"Would  you  clean  it  up  for  Miss  O'Hara?"  he  asked. 

"Naw,"  said  Rory. 

"For  Miss  Chantry,  then?" 

"Oh,  go  'long;  you  do  ask  questions."     He  laughed. 

"I  was  just  wondering,"  he  began,  but  a  nervous 
jerk  on  the  part  of  the  black  clipped  the  sentence. 

"He'll  put  a  hole  through  you  if  you  go  wondering 
too  much,"  Rory  warned  him.  "You'd  best  let  me 
finish  him.  Here,  you  can  go  on  with  this."  She 
held  out  the  dripping  sponge  and  he  meekly  made  the 
change,  balancing  himself  on  two  stones  in  mid -stream. 

"Well,  this  is  energy!"  said  Ellen's  voice  from  the 
bank  above  where  she  had  paused,  a  book  under  her 
arm.  "Why  are  we  putting  on  so  much  grandeur?" 

"Well,  Rory  thinks  the  wagon  wouldn't  be  good 
enough  for  you  unless  it  was  washed,"  Amsden  ex 
plained  mischievously.  Rory  shot  him  a  vengeful  look 
and  the  black  horse  winced,  lifting  a  threatening  hind 

leg- 

"Rory  knows  what  a  crank  I  am  about  dirt,"  said 
Ellen,  with  a  smile  at  the  scowling  little  face.  "How 
ever,  I  think  Ruth  will  have  to  take  my  place  going 
back,  she  is  so  tired;  and  she  would  never  notice  the 
difference.  So  don't  do  any  more  than  you  want  to." 

120 


DR,    ELLEN 

Rory's  eyes  had  clouded.  As  Ellen  turned  away 
she  finished  her  grooming  with  a  careless  rub  and 
picked  up  the  shafts  of  the  wagon. 

"It's  clean  enough;  don't  stand  there  swabbing  all 
the  morning,"  she  commanded. 

".Clean  enough  for  Miss  Chantry,"  Amsden  assented. 
Rory  turned  her  back. 

"You're  that  foolish,"  she  muttered. 

Towards  noon  Ellen  reluctantly  aroused  R.uth,  who 
complained  of  a  headache  and  ate  her  luncheon  in 
deep  dejection.  Ellen  looked  at  her  uneasily,  but  said 
nothing  until  Wallace  opened  up  the  subject  with  his 
usual  frankness. 

"You  look  like  a  boiled  owl,  Ruth.  Why  on  earth 
do  you  try  to  ride  home?  You  won't  enjoy  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  will.  Riding  always  does  me  good," 
she  said  hastily. 

"I'm  afraid  it  won't  to-day  in  this  bright  sun,"  put 
in  Ellen.  "I  really  think  you  had  better  give  it  up 
and  drive,  Ruth."  Her  tone  was  apologetic,  but  Ruth 
was  not  to  be  conciliated. 

"You  would  like  me  to  give  up  everything,"  she  said 
petulantly. 

"Suppose  we  don't  go  at  all,"  suggested  Wallace. 
"We  can  stay  over  another  night  just  as  well,  can't 
we?" 

"I  am  going  whether  you  do  or  not,"  said  Ruth, 
and  finished  her  meal  in  heavy  silence. 

Ellen  looked  depressed,  but  it  occurred  to  Amsden 
that  she  also  looked  firm.  When  they  rose  to  start, 

121 


DR.    ELLEN 

she  turned  to  Ruth,  who  was  pinning  on  her 
hat. 

"Ruth,  your  doctor  gives  positive  orders  that  you 
are  not  to  ride;  so  you  might  just  as  well  submit  grace 
fully."  Her  friendly  voice  offered  every  chance  for 
graceful  submission,  but  Ruth  would  not  follow  her 
lead.  She  flung  her  hat  on  the  ground  and  turned 
away. 

"You  spoil  everything.  You  never  want  me  to  have 
any  fun,"  she  said  with  a  sob. 

Ellen  broke  the  uncomfortable  pause  that  followed 
her  disappearance.  "Ruth's  headaches  always  upset 
her  nerves,"  she  apologized. 

"Suppose  we  don't  go,"  said  Wallace. 

"I  think  we  had  better,"  Ellen  decided.  "We  all 
need  home  comforts.  And,  besides,  Ying  would  worry; 
he  expects  us  to  supper." 

"Then  by  all  means  don't  let's  disappoint  him.  I 
suppose  you  will  ride  with  us." 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  assented  reluctantly.  She  evi 
dently  hated  to  take  the  pleasure  she  was  denying 
Ruth. 

The  little  scene  left  Amsden  musing.  "It  would  be 
like  marrying  Nell  and  Poppy,"  he  realized.  Relief 
at  his  escape  did  not  lessen  his  sense  of  warm  affection 
and  presently  he  went  in  search  of  her.  He  found  her 
sitting  on  a  boulder  over  the  creek,  her  eyes  heavy  but 
her  lips  tranquil  and  smiling.  She  was  watching  a 
trout  in  the  pool  beneath,  and  motioned  him  to  come 
cautiously.  She  was  as  free  from  embarrassment  as 

122 


DR.    ELLEN 

Poppy  herself,  ten  minutes  after  her  small  tem 
pests. 

"How  is  your  headache?"  he  asked  when  the  trout 
had  flashed  out  of  sight. 

"Much  better,"  she  assured  him.  "I  cried  some  of 
it  off.  Wasn't  I  horrid,"  she  added. 

He  smiled.     "Very  horrid." 

"Well,  I  told  you  I  was  petty  and  unreasonable  and 
all  that,  the  first  time  I  met  you,"  she  protested.  "You 
thought  it  was  funny  then." 

"Perhaps  I  do  still." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  know.  It's  only  funny 
when  you  hear  about  it,  not  when  you  see  it  happen. 
Don't  be  cross  at  me  —  don't  disapprove  of  me,  will 
you!" 

"Not  if  you  are  a  good  girl." 

"And  polite  to  my  teacher,"  she  added  ironically. 
"Are  you  going  to  ride  with  Ellen?" 

"And  with  you,  too.  Can't  we  ride  beside  the 
wagon?" 

"Oh,  will  you,  truly?" 

He  laughed  at  the  naive  joy  of  her  voice.  "If  Rory 
will  let  us.  You  must  come  now:  the  other  two  have 
already  started." 

The  attempt  to  ride  beside  the  wagon  did  not  work 
very  well.  The  excitement  of  companionship  was  too 
much  for  the  black  horse  with  his  head  turned  towards 
home  and  a  two  days'  rest  animating  his  gaunt  bones. 
He  persistently  travelled  in  leaps  until  Rory  ordered 
the  two  riders  to  fall  behind  out  of  earshot.  Ruth 

123 


DR.    ELLEN 

looked  wistfully  back  as  the  winding  road  gave  her  a 
last  glimpse  of  them,  sitting  silent  on  their  horses, 
apparently  oblivious  of  each  other. 

"You  could  have  held  him,  Rory,"  she  objected. 

"Maybe  I  could  and  then  maybe  I  couldn't,"  was 
the  tranquil  answer.  "Anyway,  there's  no  sense  in 
wearing  out  the  harness  before  its  time." 

"He  wouldn't  be  so  nervous  and  jumpy  if  you 
fattened  him  up  a  little;"  Ruth  was  frankly  peevish. 

"Haven't  I  been  fattening  him  these  three  months? 
You  may  think  he's  poor  now,  but  when  I  first  got 
him,  I  give  you  my  word  I  had  to  tie  a  knot  in  his  tail 
or  he'd  slip  through  the  collar." 

Ruth  laughed  in  spite  of  herself.  "What  did  you 
buy  such  an  ugly  beast  for?"  she  asked. 

"Ten  dollars,"  was  the  concise  answer.  "I'll  get 
eighty  for  him  in  a  few  weeks  more  —  you'll  see. 
Maybe  a  hundred.  All  he  needed  was  proper  handling, 
poor  brute." 

"  Dear  me,  I  wish  I  could  make  money  like  that." 

"What  do  you  want  it  for?" 

"What  for!  Clothes,  and  the  city,  and  people  — 
freedom  to  do  what  I  like!" 

"Gewgaws  and  men,"  was  the  dry  interpretation. 
"I'd  not  turn  my  hand  for  them." 

"But  what  do  you  want,  then,  Rory?" 

"Want?  What's  the  good  of  wanting  anything? 
I'd  not  waste  my  time  that  way." 

"That  is  perfect  nonsense!  You  want  your  horses, 
don't  you?  You  want  to  succeed  in  breaking  them?" 

124 


DR.    ELLEN 

"I'm  willing  to  make  a  living  that  way,  and  I  have 
a  kindness  for  the  poor  beasts.  I'll  not  say  I  spend 
any  emotion  over  them." 

"  Don't  you  spend  any  emotion  over  anything  or 
anybody?"  Ruth  asked  incredulously. 

"Why  should  I?" 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  you,  that's  all.  Even  Ellen, 
for  all  she's  so  calm  and  independent  —  well,  she 
doesn't  care  to  live  alone,  you  notice!  That  is  why  I 
am  chained  up  here  year  after  year."  Ruth's  voice 
had  grown  resentful.  Rory  shot  a  side  glance  at  her, 
wondering  and  a  little  scornful. 

"You  won't  find  anyone  better  than  Dr.  Ellen  to 
live  with,  search  the  world  over,"  she  said  impatiently. 
"Why  don't  you  thank  heaven  on  your  knees  that  you 
were  born  her  sister,  instead  of  blatting  about  parties  ?" 

Ruth  was  too  astonished  to  take  offence.  "I  didn't 
know  you  were  such  an  admirer  of  Ellen,"  she  said. 

"Who  wouldn't  be,  given  a  grain  of  common  sense? 
She's  as  far  above  the  common  ruck  of  us  as  Lou  Dillon 
is  above  this  ten-dollar  bargain  beast  of  mine.  It 
needs  only  an  eye  in  your  head  to  see  that." 

Ruth  laughed  triumphantly.  "And  you  don't  spend 
any  emotion  over  anybody!  Oh,  Rory!" 

A  dull  red  rose  in  the  girl's  scowling  face.  "Aw, 
now,  don't  be  foolish!" 

"You  don't  know  emotion  when  you  get  it:  that's 
all  that  is  the  matter  with  you,"  Ruth  teased  her. 
"You  think  Ellen  is  a  wonder,  don't  you?" 

"I  happen  to  know  it,  that's  all." 

I25 


DR.    ELLEN 

"You  wouldn't  believe  anything  against  her?" 

"Why  should  I?    It  wouldn't  be  true." 

"And  you  would  adore  to  do  something  for  her, 
wouldn't  you?  Something  awfully  hard  and  un 
pleasant?" 

"You're  too  foolish,  Ruth  Chantry.  I'll  not  talk 
with  you."  But  the  red  in  her  cheeks  had  deepened. 

Ruth  crowed  happily.  "That's  affection!  That's 
love!  Oh,  Rory,  you're  just  as  bad  as  the  rest  of  us. 
We  shall  come  to  your  wedding  yet!" 

"Naw,  naw!  I  saw  enough  of  marriage  to  last  me 
my  life  before  my  dear  father  was  mercifully  relieved 
of  his  earthly  cares  by  the  kick  of  a  horse.  I  told  you 
I  had  a  kindness  for  horses,"  she  added  with  wicked 
pensiveness. 

"You  dreadful  girl!"  laughed  Ruth. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Rory,  and  her  mouth  looked 
grim.  "There's  a  lot  of  things  you  don't  know,  Ruth 
Chantry." 

"Tell  me  some  of  them." 

She  shook  her  head.  "Keep  canaries  in  their  cages, 
say  I.  I've  been  sparrowing  around  in  the  dirt  all  my 
days,  and  I'm  none  the  better  for  it." 

"I'm  no  canary!"  A  quick  contraction  of  her 
arms  showed  a  flash  of  some  obscure  feeling.  "Some 
times  I  feel  more  like  a  tiger,"  she  exclaimed,  frowning. 

"You're  fire  in  the  straw,"  was  the  sober  answer. 

"Quick  and  hot  and  then  all  over?"  she  interpreted 
without  much  interest. 

"Just  that." 

126 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Sometimes  I  feel  like  an  eagle  in  the  air,"  chanted 
Ruth,  remembering  with  delight  an  old  darkey  song  of 
her  childhood.  She  sang  it  exultingly: 

"Sometimes  I  feel  like  an  eagle  in  the  air, 
Feel  like  an  eagle  in  the  air! 

Sometimes  I  feel  like  a  mournin'  dove:" 

her  sweet,  high  voice,  suddenly  plaintive,  came  back 
from  the  hill  above  to  the  silent  riders  following: 

"Sometimes  I  feel  like  a  mournin'  dove, 
Sometimes  I  feel  like  a  mournin'  dove, 
Feel  like  a  mournin'  dove: 

Sometimes  I  feel  like  a  motherless  chile:" 
she  crooned  it  over  and  over: 

"Feel  like  a  motherless  chile, 
Feel  like  a  motherless  chile!" 

Amsden,  glancing  at  Ellen,  saw  that  her  lips  were 
set  in  a  sorrowful  line.  "  Poor  little  Ruth,"  came  from 
his  heart,  but  before  it  was  spoken  her  laugh,  fresh 
and  joyous,  followed  the  haunting  notes.  After  all, 
why  poor  Ruth  ?  She  was  probably  happier  than  any 
of  them.  Why  did  he  persistently  find  her  pathetic  ? 

The  prospect  of  a  three  hours'  ride  with  Ellen 
interested  Amsden  more  than  he  thought  best  to  betray 
in  the  face  of  her  obvious  indifference.  This  was  so 
complete  that  he  wondered  presently  if  the  true  name 
for  it  were  not  hostility;  surely  thorough  indifference 

127 


DR.    ELLEN 

would  have  made  more  effort  to  be  friendly.  After 
two  or  three  topics  had  been  killed  with  courteous 
commonplace,  he  gave  up  and  rode  beside  her  in  an 
abstraction  that  was  presently  as  deep  as  her  own. 
He  knew  why  he  was  down  on  her,  or  had  been  before 
that  mock  burial  in  the  woods  had  blurred  his  impres 
sions  and  his  judgment;  was  she  down  on  him  merely 
because  she  had  felt  the  unspoken  ciritcism,  or  for 
himself?  His  revery  led  him  to  the  eternal  mystery 
of  human  attractions  and  antagonisms,  out  of  which 
he  finally  made  one  more  attempt  at  conversation. 

"Rory  is  a  strange  little  person,"  he  began.  "Do 
you  really  believe  she  is  as  detached  as  she  seems?  I 
think  she  might  be  capable  of  a  big  devotion  —  kept 
very  secret,  of  course." 

The  long  silence  seemed  to  have  tempered  Ellen's 
mood;  she  answered  with  a  note  of  interest. 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  her. 
She  has  a  certain  dry  kindness,  but  I  doubt  if  she  has 
much  —  what  people  call  heart." 

"I  am  not  so  sure.  Poor  child,  how  she  must  have 
been  batted  about.  I  always  have  a  sense  of  dreadful, 
devastating  experiences  in  her  past.  She  is  a  good 
hater.  I  would  give  something  really  to  find  her  out." 

"Why?"  It  was  an  aggressive  monosyllable,  but 
he  ignored  the  tone. 

"Because  I  have  a  passionate  curiosity  about  my 
fellow  creatures,"  he  answered  placidly.  "Haven't 
you?  Don't  you  long  to  listen  at  their  moral  key 
holes?" 

128 


DR.    ELLEN 

"I  don't  think  I  am  analytical;"  Ellen's  voice  im 
plied  that  she  was  thankful  for  it.  "I  have  a  strong 
interest  in  my  fellow  creatures'  lives  and  problems;  I 
doubt  if  that  is  the  sort  of  interest  you  mean,  though." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  understand  their  lives  and 
problems  if  you  ignore  their  psychology."  Amsden's 
friendly  patience  was  rather  irritating,  a  fact  of  which 
he  was  fully  aware. 

"What  do  you  do  with  all  this  deep  understanding 
after  you  have  got  it?"  she  asked  impatiently. 

"Why,  I  sit  and  think  about  it.  It  is  vastly  inter 
esting." 

"And  then?" 

"Then  I  go  out  and  get  some  more  to  think  about." 
He  knew  that  he  was  caricaturing  himself,  but  her 
scorn  of  the  dilettante  drove  him  to  a  perverse  assump 
tion  of  the  attitude. 

"Ah,  yes.  No  doubt  that  is  amusing."  Her  profile 
showed  that  she  was  ready  to  drop  the  subject,  and 
him  as  well,  but  he  persisted. 

"It  is  deeply  exciting.  And  I  think  I  may  get  a 
new  science  out  of  it  some  day  —  the  science  of  human 
chemistry." 

She  evidently  did  not  want  to  show  interest,  but 
as  he  relapsed  into  meditation,  she  presently  brought 
out  an  unwilling,  "And  what  would  that  be?" 

"It  would  begin  with  a  table  of  human  elements. 
Every  person,  of  course,  is  made  up  of  a  combination 
of  these,  and,  by  referring  to  the  table,  you  could  give 
him  his  formula.  Then  suppose  I  wanted  to  go  into 

129 


DR.    ELLEN 

partnership  with  a  person;  I  would  take  his  formula 
and  mine  and  in  a  few  moments  work  out  the  chemical 
effect  of  these  elements  on  each  other  —  fusion,  explo 
sion,  whatever  it  might  be.  And  so  we  could  shake 
hands  on  it  and  give  it  up,  or  go  ahead  and  prosper, 
according  to  what  we  discovered.  Think  of  the  hope 
less  attempts  at  combination  it  would  save.''  She  was 
actually  smiling. 

"I  suppose  one  would  go  to  have  one's  formula 
taken  or  corrected  every  few  years,  just  as  one  if 
vaccinated,"  she  suggested. 

"Of  course.  And  the  formulas  would  all  be  regis 
tered.  No  one  could  conceal  his;  the  word  'dupe* 
would  disappear  from  the  language." 

"But  there  would  be  an  end  to  drama,"  she  objected. 
"The  heroine  would  look  up  the  villain's  formula  in 
the  first  act,  and  then  where  would  your  play  be?" 

"  Oh,  we  should  have  a  new  order  of  play,  and  I  am 
sure  it  is  time.  I  am  tired  of  the  duped  lady,  myself." 

For  some  reason,  the  interest  that  had  lighted  her 
face  was  abruptly  withdrawn.  She  turned  away. 

"I  doubt  if  even  formulas  would  save  her,"  she  said 
from  a  long  distance.  An  impatient  challenge,  a  de 
mand  to  know  why  she  met  him  this  way,  was  on 
Amsden's  lips;  but  a  turn  of  the  road  revealed  Mr. 
Gilfillan  riding  to  meet  them,  and  the  change  in  Ellen 
showed  him  and  his  subject  forgotten.  She  rode  for 
ward  with  alert  interest  and  her  eyes  searched  the 
homely,  earnest  face. 

"Well?  "she  greeted  him. 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  Nothing  wrong  here,  M'z  Roderick.  Mr.  Amsden, 
how  do  you  do,  sir  ?  I  thought  you  might  have  some 
thing  for  me  to  do,  so  I  rode  this  way  on  the  chance." 
His  compassionate  little  eyes  met  Ellen's  for  a  moment, 
and  Amsden  divined  that  he  had  heard  of  that  night 
visit  to  the  camp.  Ellen  evidently  saw  it  too. 

"I  am  glad  you  came,"  she  said  with  quiet  warmth. 
"  There  are  several  things  I  want  to  talk  over  with 
you." 

"Then  suppose  I  ride  on  ahead  out  of  your  way," 
Amsden  suggested,  though  he  would  have  given  much 
to  stay  and  hear. 

"It  would  not  interest  you,"  Ellen  assented,  and  he 
went  on  feeling  rather  lonely  and  left  out,  and  not  a 
little  irritated.  It  would  not  "interest"  him;  she 
would  have  spoken  just  so  to  Christine.  She  knew 
better,  but  she  wanted  to  be  rid  of  him. 

He  forgot  his  irritation  presently  in  the  pleasure  of 
the  ride;  even  the  hot  side-hill  stretch  that  followed 
the  cool  beauty  of  the  wood  road  had  its  charm,  the 
charm  of  savagery.  He  found  Wallace  in  the  village, 
where  he  had  returned  to  leave  his  horse,  so  he  left 
his  own  and  the  two  walked  on  together  whistling  light 
opera,  thoroughly  content  with  life. 

At  the  turning  where  the  road  to  the  cabin  branched 
off,  they  came  suddenly  upon  a  very  pale  young  woman 
seated  against  the  bank.  A  wagon  with  a  broken 
shaft  held  the  centre  of  the  road,  while  a  nervous, 
panting  horse  was  fastened  to  a  tree  near  by.  Rory's 
left  arm  was  carefully  supported  in  her  right  hand. 


DR.    ELLEN 

The  light  opera  ceased  abruptly. 

"Well,  what  on  earth!"  exclaimed  Wallace  as  they 
scrambled  down  from  the  bank,  startling  the  horse  to 
fresh  plunging.  Rory  managed  a  dim  smile. 

"He  didn't  get  away  from  me,  anyhow,"  she  said. 
"Ruth  is  all  right  —  I  had  left  her  up  at  the  house." 

"But  what  happened?    Automobile?" 

"'Twas  my  own  fault.  I  was  mooney  and  he 
climbed  the  bank  on  me  —  I  spilled  out." 

"And  you're  hurt?" 

"  Oh,  I  lit  on  my  feet  all  right,  but  he  kicked  my  arm 
while  I  was  untangling  him  and  I  guess  it's  broke. 
Could  you  help  me  get  him  home?" 

"  We'll  get  you  home  first,"  exclaimed  Wallace.  "  He 
can  jolly  well  wait."  They  insisted  on  putting  her 
into  the  wagon  and  drew  her  to  the  Dorn  cottage. 
Her  mother  came  running  out,  tearful  and  excited. 

"Now,  Rory,  didn't  I  know  you'd  kill  yourself  some 
day !  What  is  it,  child  ?  If  you  will  drive  wild  beasts ! 
Can  you  lift  her  down,  Mr.  Wallace,  dear?  Let  me 
take  her  feet.  Oh,  Rory,  I  ought  never  to  have  let 
you.  I'll  run  for  Dr.  Pocock  myself."  Rory  had 
grown  very  white,  and  Wallace  and  Amsden  would 
have  carried  her  to  her  room,  but  she  insisted  on 
walking.  She  stopped  abruptly. 

"I'll  not  have  that  windbag  of  a  Pocock,"  she  said 
with  spirit.  "  Get  Dr.  Ellen  —  she's  good  enough  for 
me.  Don't  run,  now,"  she  added  as  Amsden  started 
away.  Then  her  eyes  closed,  and  she  let  Wallace  lift 
her  on  to  her  bed  without  protest.  He  stood  beside 

132 


DR.    ELLEN 

her,  patting  her  hand  in  helpless  kindliness,  while 
Mrs.  Dorn  fluttered  about,  bringing  haphazard  offer 
ings  for  the  patient's  comfort.  In  a  very  short  time 
they  heard  Ellen's  firm  step  on  the  porch.  Rory 
looked  up  with  her  usual  grin. 

"Well,  Doctor,  here  I  am,  you  see.  Now,  Mama, 
you  go  sit  by  the  window  and  concentrate.  And  if 
you  don't  mind,  just  concentrate  on  the  other  arm  — 
this  one's  got  trouble  enough.  Thank  you,  Mr. 
Wallace." 

"Oh,  I'll  stay  and  see  you  through  it,"  said  Wallace, 
taking  her  right  hand  in  a  comfortable  grip. 

"Well,  if  'twould  interest  you.  I'll  not  holler,"  she 
promised  humorously.  And  she  kept  her  word, 
though  the  sympathetic  Wallace  looked  limp  by  the 
time  the  work  was  finished. 

"Gee!  You've  got  sand,"  he  exclaimed,  when  her 
fingers  finally  relaxed  their  grip.  "I  should  have 
made  the  welkin  ring."  Rory's  spirit  was  still  uncon- 
quered. 

"Ah,  well,  you're  only  a  man,"  she  murmured. 

Amsden  brought  back  the  uneasy  horse,  fed  and 
bedded  him,  not  without  difficulty.  He  enjoyed  the 
struggle,  enjoyed  the  dominion  of  his  will  and  voice 
over  the  powerful  brute.  The  superiority  of  man  to 
all  created  beings  was  pleasantly  upon  him  as  he  sat 
on  the  steps  half  an  hour  later,  awaiting  Ellen's  reap 
pearance.  Perhaps  a  touch  of  this  consciousness 
showed  in  his  outlines,  for  Ellen's  face  changed  a 
little  at  sight  of  him,  the  serenely  humane  gravity  of 


DR.    ELLEN 

work  well  done  giving  place  to  a  slightly  ironical 
smile. 

"Rory  is  worried  about  the  horse,"  she  said.  "Do 
you  think  you  could  —  "  her  glance  passed  over  his 
fresh  linen,  smooth  hair,  and  generally  neat  aspect  — 
"get  someone  to  bring  him  back?"  she  finished. 

"Someone  did,"  sa^i  Amsde.n,  reading  the  look 
perfectly;  "and  I  believe  he  has  been  watered  and 'fed 
and  tucked  up  for  the  night.  JHow^  is  she?" 

"A  broken  arm  isn't  pleasant.  Still,  it  is  a  simple 
break.  She  won't  l^e  laid  i\p  lon^."  Her  eyes  turned 
to  the  dusty,  unkempt  yard*  troacfei  'hard  and  bare, 
littered  with  bits  of  rusty  harness,  stray  cart  wheels, 
horseshoes  and  divers  old  bones,  at  one  of  which  a 
half-grown  cur  was  gnawing  with  arched  back  and 
clamped  tail .  "  What  a  looking  place, ' '  she  commented : 
"I  should  really  enjoy  taking  hold  and  clearing 
it  up." 

"Suppose  we  do,"  said  Amsden.  He  surprised  an 
incredulous  laugh  out  of  her. 

"It  would  not  hurt  me,"  she  said  with  an  expressive 
glance  from  him  to  her  shabby  denim  skirt. 

"That  is  easily  fixed  —  if  you  are  not  too  tired?" 

"Tired  ?  Why  should  I  be ?  I  ride  as  much  as  that 
every  day." 

"Very  well.  Find  something  to  collect  rubbish  in: 
I  will  be  back  in  two  minutes." 

He  hurried  into  the  house,  laughing  silently  at  her 
astonished  expression.  A  glance  from  the  window 
showed  her  obediently  comparing  the  efficacy  of  two 


DR.    ELLEN 

broken  fruit  baskets.  He  shook  his  head  at  her  from 
the  shelter  of  the  curtain. 

"I've  found  the  treatment  you  need,  my  good  Ellen," 
he  murmured.  "You  will  be  friends  with  me  yet." 
But  there  was  only  businesslike  alertness  in  his  face 
when  he  came  back  to  her,  in  clothes  that  had  seen 
service. 

They  established  a  pile  of  rubbish  that  would  burn, 
and  Amsden  dug  a  hole  behind  the  barn  where  the 
rest  might  be  buried ;  tools  and  properties  worth  saving 
were  stored  in  a  shed.  A  subdued  gaiety  crept  into 
their  voices.  The  joy  of  sheer  bodily  work  set  smiling 
curves  about  Ellen's  mouth;  her  eyes  were  cleared  of 
their  hostile  reserve.  Amsden  wondered  at  her  strength, 
and  was  exhilarated  with  a  boyish  desire  to  prove  his 
own.  When  all  the  rubbish  had  been  cleared  away, 
he  set  her  to  sweeping  and  raking  while  he  pumped  up 
water  to  sprinkle. 

Wallace,  plump  and  pink  and  clean,  appeared  on  the 
doorstep,  and  his  amazed  voice  made  them  both  laugh. 

"Well,  what  in  hell!  Excuse  me,  Ellen,  but  what 
do  you  think  you're  doing?" 

"These  are  professional  services,"  explained  Amsden. 
"There's  another  bucket,  if  you  want  to  help." 

"Thank  you,  no.  I  will  hold  Rory's  hand  in  this 
emergency,  but  I'm  darned  if  I'll  wash  her  back  yard. 
I  think  you're  both  crazy!  Stop  raising  that  dust  till 
I  get  by  —  I  am  going  up  the  hill  after  refined  society." 
He  paused  to  look  back  at  them  in  mild  disgust.  "  You 
are  sights"  he  commented. 


DR.    ELLEN 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed  acknowledg 
ment:  they  undeniably  were  "sights."  Amsden  threw 
a  final  pail  of  water,  then  perched  on  the  well-curb 
and  took  out  a  cigarette. 

"  Suppose  we  contemplate  our  labours,"  he  sug 
gested.  She  evidently  was  not  sorry  to  sit  down. 
The  last  sunbeams,  coming  in  long  lances  be 
tween  the  western  peaks,  lingered  on  their  finished 
work. 

"Aren't  order  and  cleanness  the  most  beautiful 
things  in  the  world  1"  she  exclaimed. 

"But  I  don't  like  brand  newness,"  Amsden 
objected. 

"Oh,  no:  I  should  choose  a  dusted  and  well- 
ordered  antiquity."  They  smiled  at  having  found 
a  common  meeting-ground.  "I  don't  suppose  Rory 
will  appreciate  it,  but  it  will  be  a  daily  pleasure 
to  me." 

"Did  she  tell  you  how  the  accident  came  about? 
It  seems  incredible  that  Rory  should  be  spilled  out, 
and  on  a  good  road." 

"I  know  it.  She  would  only  say  that  she  was 
'  mooney,'  and  that  the  horse  cut  off  the  corner,  sending 
the  wagon  up  the  bank.  She  is  an  impenetrable  little 
thing:  we  shall  not  know  any  more  than  she  wants  us 
to." 

"I  was  fortunate  in  meeting  you  so  soon:  I  was  afraid 
you  might  have  stopped  somewhere  with  Gilfillan." 
He  meant  to  stop  there,  but  the  latent  antagonism  that 
was  always  impelling  him  to  force  issues  with  Ellen, 

136 


DR.    ELLEN 

to  break  through  conventional  surfaces  and  demand 
frankness  from  her,  made  him  go  on:  "I  hope  he  had 
no  more  trouble  to  report." 

" Trouble?"  her  quick  look  was  a  question. 

"Yes:  I  suppose  Spaulding  is  making  it  very  hard 
for  you." 

"Oh,  not  very,"  was  the  defensive  answer.  He  felt 
the  door  shut  in  his  face  and  waited  in  dignified  silence, 
intending  that  she  should  repent.  It  came  quicker 
than  he  had  expected.  "Yes;  he  is  making  it  very  hard 
indeed,"  she  amended  gravely.  "The  people  here  are 
ignorant,  and  the  new  doctor  has  been  adroit  in  making 
capital  out  of  this." 

"They  haven't  all  gone  back  on  you?" 

"Some  have  stayed  loyal,  but  the  majority  have 
gone  over  to  him." 

"Well,  doesn't  that  rather  set  you  free?"  he  asked 
after  a  pause. 

"Free?" 

He  turned  and  faced  her.  "  Don't  you  ever  want  to 
go  back  to  the  city?  To  your  friends  and  some  life 
of  your  own?  How  can  a  woman  like  you  expect  to 
be  satisfied  here,  year  after  year?" 

"Satisfied!  I  don't  expect  it.  If  I  can  just  keep 
myself  quiet  — "  She  broke  off,  but  there  was  un 
mistakable  longing  in  her  eyes,  lifted  to  the  western 
horizon.  "I  stay  because  I  must,"  she  added  in  a 
low  voice.  "Don't  make  it  harder  for  me." 

The  last  lance  of  sunlight  was  cut  off  and  instantly 
a  chill  seemed  to  pour  out  of  the  shadows.  She  rose. 


DR.    ELLEN 

"You  must  not  sit  there  without  a  coat,"  she  said. 
They  were  back  at  plain,  matter-of-fact  surfaces  as 
she  turned  away.  Amsden  went  in  pondering.  "If  I 
can  just  keep  myself  quiet  — "  Someway,  that  had 
not  sounded  like  missionary  zeal. 


138 


XI 

WHY  Rory  should  have  had  an  accident,  with  a 
tired  horse,  on  an  open  road  —  Rory,  whose  skill  with 
half-broken  colts  and  unmanageable  bronchos  had 
made  her  famous  throughout  the  region  —  remained  a 
mystery.  On  their  arrival  from  the  camp,  Ruth  had 
gone  straight  up  to  bed,  leaving  Christine  to  help  take 
the  things  out  of  the  wagon.  She  had  seen  no  signs  of 
"mooniness"  on  the  long  drive,  nor  could  Christine 
throw  any  light,  though  she  held  herself  somewhat 
aloof  from  the  subject  and  answered  impatiently  when 
appealed  to. 

"Of  course,  I  talked  with  her  when  I  took  out  the 
things,  just  as  I  should  with  anybody,"  she  exclaimed. 
"She  seemed  to  me  rather  rude  and  snappy,  but  no 
more  so  than  she  always  is.  I  am  not  at  all  surprised 
that  she  had  a  smash- up  with  that  beast;  I'm  only 
thankful  that  Ruth  got  home  alive." 

"That  seems  to  settle  it,"  murmured  Wallace,  and 
the  discussion  dropped. 

Mrs.  Dorn,  who  was  a  reed  to  every  wind  of  gossip, 
worried  persistently  that  Dr.  Pocock  had  not  at  least 
had  an  eye  on  the  setting  of  Rory's  arm. 

"You  mark  my  words,  Rory  Dorn,  you'll  have  one 


DR.    ELLEN 

arm  shorter  than  the  other,  or  crooked,  or  something," 
Amsden  heard  her  holding  forth  as  he  came  down 
stairs  the  morning  after  the  accident.  "I've  nothing 
against  Dr.  Ellen  —  I  don't  for  a  minute  believe  she 
meant  to  let  that  little  Spaulding  girl  die.  But  it 
stands  to  reason  that  a  smart  man  like  Dr.  Pocock  — " 

"Oh,  Mama,  let  up!  I  wouldn't  trust  Pocock  with 
a  sick  chicken,"  was  the  emphatic  interruption.  "This 
town  has  gone  silly  over  him.  Just  concentrate  on  the 
young  gentlemen's  breakfast  now,  or  they'll  be  holler 
ing  for  it.  Pocock  —  huh!" 

The  utter  contempt  of  her  tone  made  Amsden  smile 
to  himself.  The  man  had  impressed  him  unpleasantly 
in  their  casual  meetings,  and  it  interested  him  that 
Rory  had  escaped  the  glamour  cast  over  the  neighbour 
hood.  There  were  brains  behind  that  shrewd  little 
face.  After  breakfast  he  turned  to  the  dingy  and 
airless  coop  known  as  the  parlour,  where  she  was  es 
tablished  on  a  four-foot  sofa,  never  intended  for  ease. 
Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  paused  in  the  doorway, 
startled  by  the  expression  of  her  small,  brown  face. 
It  was  never  a  genial  face,  but  usually  it  carried  a  look 
of  dry  cheerfulness,  as  though  its  possessor  found  a 
measure  of  amusement  in  this  arid  business  of  living. 
To-day,  seen  off  guard,  it  looked  wholly,  desolately 
sad.  Amsden  tried  to  think  it  was  physical  pain  he 
saw;  but  the  bitter  line  about  the  mouth  came  from  no 
ill  of  the  body. 

The  look  vanished  as  she  opened  her  eyes  and  greeted 
him  with  an  ironical  grin. 

140 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Visiting  the  sick  and  afflicted  —  that's  good  of 
you,"  she  said.  " Where's  your  jelly?  They  took 
jelly  to  the  invalid  in  the  only  book  I  ever  read." 

"Do  you  mean  that  literally,  Rory  —  that  you  have 
read  only  one  book?"  he  asked,  sitting  down  beside  her. 

"One  story  book:  'twas  more  than  enough.  Mama's 
daft  over  them,  and  I  had  to  read  it  to  her  one  time 
when  her  eyes  were  bad.  I  should  think  anyone's 
eyes  would  go  bad  over  such  rot." 

"What  was  the  name?" 

"How  should  I  know?  I  never  looked  to  see. 
'Twas  in  paper  covers,  and  there  was  a  picture  of  two 
young  fools  eloping  on  the  outside.  Not  for  me! 
The  Horse  Record  gives  me  all  the  literature  I  need." 

"I  am  afraid  it  won't,  now  that  you  are  laid  up. 
Suppose  I  bring  you  down  some  good  stories  —  not 
rot  —  from  the  cabin:  will  you  try  them?  It  will  be 
better  than  lying  here  thinking  of  dismal  things." 

She  sent  him  a  quick,  suspicious  glance.  "And 
why?  If  there's  dismal  things  happening  —  and  I 
don't  see  much  else  —  why  not  think  about  'em  ?  I'm 
no  hand  for  dope,  myself :  I  take  my  bad  times  the  way 
they  come." 

"I  thought  you  had  more  sense.  You  might  as  well 
refuse  mattress  and  pillow  because  the  ground  is  hard." 

"It's  no  harder  than  this  sofa,  let  me  tell  you!  I'd 
as  soon  have  the  ground  as  any  pillow  that  comes  my 
way.  No;  this  world's  a  bad,  ugly  place,  Mr.  Amsden, 
and  I  take  no  pleasure  in  seeing  it  dressed  up  in  stories 
to  please  young  ladies." 

141 


DR.    ELLEN 

"How  can  you  call  it  wholly  bad  and  ugly,  when  it 
holds  such  people  as  Dr.  Ellen,  for  instance?" 

It  might  have  been  a  pang  from  her  arm  that  made 
Rory's  eyes  close  and  her  mouth  contract. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she's  good.  Nothing  —  no  one  could  ever 
make  me  think  Dr.  Ellen  wasn't  good,"  she  said 
hotly. 

"And  Gilfillan?" 

"And  Gilfillan  —  that's  right."  She  opened  her 
eyes  again  with  a  faint  smile.  "And  Mama's  good  in 
her  way,  poor  little  goose!  She'd  've  sat  up  all  night 
concentrating  on  me  if  I  hadn't  told  her  the  pain  was 
all  gone.  She  felt  lots  worse  about  it  than  I  did." 

"It  is  a  living  mystery,  Rory,  how  you  came  to  spill 
out." 

She  scowled.  "Everybody's  a  fool  once  in  a  while, 
ain't  they?  I  should  think  I  was  paying  hard  enough 
without  being  pestered  to  death  with  questions.  The 
black  has  got  to  be  turned  out  this  morning:  there's  no 
knowing  when  I'll  touch  reins  again." 

"I  will  see  to  it." 

"Well,  thank  you.  You  might  go  do  it  now,"  was 
the  ungracious  answer;  and  Rory  turned  her  face  to 
the  back  of  the  sofa  as  though  weary  of  entertainment. 
Her  visitor  felt  amazingly  young  and  snubbed  as  he 
went  out. 

The  broken  arm  brought  Ellen  frequently  to  the 
house,  and  her  brief  meetings  there  with  Amsden 
gradually  took  on  a  character  of  their  own  —  an  in 
timacy  half  unwilling  on  her  part,  and  of  which  their 

142 


DR.    ELLEN 

meetings  at  the  cabin  gave  no  sign.  He  frankly 
watched  for  her,  but  hid  the  satisfaction  with  which 
day  after  day  he  saw  her  linger  —  her  hand  on  the 
saddle,  her  face  often  turned  from  him  in  the  intention 
of  mounting,  and  yet  held  minute  after  minute  by  those 
abrupt  plunges  into  intercourse. 

Christine  and  Ruth  visited  the  invalid  with  cheerful 
assiduousness.  They  usually  found  her  on  a  shaky 
little  porch,  so  narrow  that  they  had  to  sit  in  a  row  as 
on  a  street  car,  or  perch  on  the  slim  railing  at  the  risk 
of  a  tumble  into  the  yard  beneath.  It  was  an  attrac 
tively  tidy  yard  now,  and  Rory  frequently  looked  from 
its  severe  orderliness  to  Amsden's  neat  and  scholarly 
outlines  with  an  expression  of  wonder  on  her  sardonic 
little  face.  "Well,  I  never!"  seemed  to  be  the  daily 
sum  of  her  meditations.  After  the  first  ten  minutes 
Christine  was  apt  to  forget  the  invalid,  turning  her 
back  to  carry  on  gaily  with  Wallace,  in  spite  of  Ruth's 
gentle  attempts  to  keep  Rory  included.  Rory's  face 
at  such  times  was  worth  watching;  it  suggested  the 
serene  contempt  of  a  tiger  dozing  with  eyes  half 
closed. 

To  the  general  amusement,  Ying  jogged  down  the 
trail  nearly  every  day  with  some  offering,  which  he 
put  down  by  Rory  with  a  stern,  "You  eat  'im  —  do 
you  good."  His  admiration  for  Rory  was  equalled 
only  by  his  withering  contempt  for  her  mother.  He 
arrived  one  afternoon  just  as  the  latter  was  bringing 
Rory  her  early  supper  and  stood  staring  at  the  tray 
with  a  yellow  scorn  that  made  Mrs.  Dorn  fidget  ner- 


DR.    ELLEN 

vously  and  tip  over  a  glass  of  water.  Rory  serenely 
plunged  a  fork  into  the  pale  grey  stew,  but  Ying  could 
not  stand  it. 

"Here!  You  let  'im  alone!"  he  snorted,  and  sweep 
ing  up  the  tray,  disappeared  into  the  house.  Mrs. 
Dorn  fluttered  distressfully  after  him,  but  did  not  dare 
go  into  the  kitchen,  where  he  could  be  heard  striding 
between  pantry  and  stove  and  slamming  pots  about 
with  an  occasional  "H'h!"  of  disgust  that  nearly  drove 
her  into  hysterics. 

"Rory,  whatever  will  I  do?"  she  gasped  for  the 
seventh  time.  "That  heathen  is  — " 

The  kitchen  door  opened  and  she  scuttled  out  of 
the  way  as  Ying  reappeared  bearing  high  in  front  of 
him  a  supper  such  as  that  house  had  never  seen  before, 
though  it  was  made  up  of  such  familiar  elements  as 
eggs,  toast,  and  hot  chocolate. 

"Your  Mama,  she  cook  for  the  chickens!"  he  mut 
tered,  and  strode  away,  still  outraged. 

"Food's  food,"  said  Rory,  philosophically.  "Better 
have  some,  Mama." 

"Not  I.  Every  egg  in  the  house,  and  that's  the 
cream  for  the  young  gentlemen's  coffee  you're  using 
up,  Rory  Dorn.  Whatever  they'll  say  — " 

"'But  leave  a  kiss  within  the  cup,  and  I'll  not  ask 
for  cream,'"  chanted  Wallace's  voice  as  he  came  round 
the  corner  of  the  house.  "Rory,  I've  come  to  entertain 
you,"  he  announced.  "What  will  you  take?  Con 
versation  ?  Circus  ?  Charades  ? ' ' 

"Well,  if  you  feel  that  energetic,  you  might  see  if 
144 


DR.    ELLEN 

there  is  an  egg  or  two  for  your  breakfast  in  the  barn," 
Rory  suggested. 

"That's  too  easy.  Give  me  something  really  hard," 
he  said  hastily,  seating  himself  on  the  steps  and  using 
his  hat  as  a  fan.  "Something  so  hard  you  have  to 
do  it  sitting  down." 

"Well,  I  dare  say  gassing  here  with  me,  and  the 
others  off  somewheres  else,  is  hard  enough  in  its  way," 
she  commented. 

"Oh,  they're  coming,"  was  the  ingenuous  answer. 
"They're  all  down  in  the  village  buying  things.  Miss 
O'Hara  was  not  quite  ready  to  leave,  so  I  strolled  on 
ahead."  His  tone  had  unconsciously  become  urban, 
formal. 

"Had  a  scrap?"  said  Rory. 

An  unwilling  smile  grew  to  an  acknowledging 
chuckle.  "You're  too  sharp  for  me,  Rory,"  he  con 
fessed.  "We  did." 

"What  was  the  trouble?" 

"Hanged  if  I  know.  I  guess  it  was  just  for  the  fun 
of  making  up  again;  but  I  fooled  her  by  walking  off. 
The  next  move  is  up  to  her." 

"She'll  be  equal  to  it,  I'm  thinking." 

"Trust  her."  He  laughed  comfortably.  "She's  a 
great  girl,  Rory." 

"I've  no  doubt,"  was  the  expressionless  answer. 

"It's  funny  about  girls,"  he  went  on.  "You  can 
know  one  for  years,  like  her  a  lot  and  all  that,  and 
then,  all  of  a  sudden  —  well,  there  you  are!"  he  con 
cluded  confidentially. 

US 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  So  they  tell  me." 

He  turned  to  her  with  unwonted  seriousness.  "  Now, 
R'jry,  you  listen  to  Uncle  Willie,"  he  began.  "Men 
may  be  a  bad  lot,  but  they  happen  to  be  the  best  there 
is  going  in  that  line;  and  you'd  better  realize  it  before 
it  is  too  late.  Hang  it,  there  isn't  anything  better  than 
marriage  in  the  long  run;  you're  going  to  want  a  home 
of  your  own  and  some  kids,  and  you'll  be  a  darned 
sour  old  woman  if  you  don't  get  them.  What  you 
need  is  to  get  busy  and  corner  some  decent  chap  and 
make  the  best  of  him,  instead  of  slinging  rocks  whenever 
a  man  is  mentioned.  You  believe  your  uncle!" 

Rory's  attentive  gravity  had  a  mischievous  cast,  and 
Wallace  closed  his  oration  with  a  hasty  glance  over 
his  shoulder,  to  find  Christine  standing  at  the  foot  of 
the  steps  with  clasped  hands  and  rapt  eyes  uplifted, 
while  Ruth  and  Amsden,  seated  on  a  box,  listened 
with  equal  fervour. 

"Oh,  Willie,  those  inspired  words  will  stay  in  my 
heart  forever,"  breathed  Christine.  Wallace  was 
chuckling,  wholly  unabashed. 

"Well,  it's  straight  goods.  I  am  glad  you  heard  it 
—  old  rubber-soled  sneakers!" 

"'Man  is  the  best  thing  there  is  going,'"  repeated 
Christine,  mounting  slowly,  a  step  at  a  time.  "How 
simple,  yet  how  complete." 

"Oh,  come  of! !" 

"'You  need  to  get  busy  and  corner  some  decent 
chap — "  She  made  a  sudden  dart  at  him,  both 
arms  out.  Wallace  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  dodged 

146 


DR.    ELLEN 

behind  Rory's  chair  with  a  shrill  howl  of,  "Help!" 
The  little  porch  rocked  with  the  excitement  that 
followed,  and  Rory  sat  patiently  in  the  centre  of 
the  chase,  her  eyes  half  closed,  her  mouth  twisted 
wearily  down  at  one  corner. 

Amsden  and  Ruth  exchanged  small,  mischievous 
glances  that  deepened  into  smiles  of  understanding. 
Moving  very  quietly,  they  left  their  box  and  stole 
away.  Two  minutes  later  they  were  established  in  a 
small  hay-field,  pleasantly  shut  in  by  a  stunted  oak 
tree  overhead  and  the  sharp  upward  slope  of  the  land. 
In  this  region  of  grand  views,  it  was  a  relief  now  and 
then  to  see  nothing  bigger  than  haycocks. 

"Not  but  that  I  should  be  very  happy  to  stay  and 
amuse  Rory,"  Amsden  said,  scooping  out  a  hollow  for 
her  in  the  hay;  "only  I  have  my  doubts  of  our  suc 
ceeding  on  just  those  lines." 

"She  thinks  we  are  awful  idiots,  most  of  the  time," 
Ruth  assented,  settling  herself  with  a  little  wiggle  of 
satisfaction.  "To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  think  she 
likes  Christine  very  much." 

"Well,  not  as  much  as  Wallace  does,"  he  suggested, 
and  they  both  laughed,  though  Ruth  sighed  a  moment 
later. 

"Do  you  suppose  it  is  the  real  thing?"  she  asked 
wistfully. 

"  Oh,  real  enough  for  practical  purposes." 

Amsden  instinctively  took  a  cheerfully  matter-of- 
fact  tone  before  questions  of  sentiment,  with  Ruth. 
There  were  times  when  she  gave  him  the  uneasy 

147 


DR.    ELLEN 

impression  of  a  person  carrying  a  full  cup  which  the 
slightest  touch  would  cause  to  spill  over,  with  disas 
trous  results.  Then  she  would  laugh  whole-heartedly, 
throw  herself  headlong  into  some  plan  of  amusement, 
and  he  would  be  ashamed  of  his  momentary  suspicions. 
She  bloomed  under  his  approval,  and  the  little-girl 
quality  of  her  happiness  made  it  hard  for  him  not  to 
show  her  open  affection;  but  a  dawning  recognition  of 
an  emotional  nature  full  grown  and  reckless  kept  him 
scrupulously  practical.  She  was  sensitive  to  his  tone, 
wholly  docile  in  her  desire  to  please  him. 

"  Christine  and  I  have  a  perfectly  beautiful  secret," 
she  said,  with  a  prompt  change  of  subject.  "It  will  be 
the  nicest  thing  that  ever  happened.  Will  you  cross 
your  heart  not  to  tell  ?  Well,  then.  When  she  leaves 
here  she  is  going  down  to  Del  Monte  for  a  week,  and 
—  I  —  am  —  to  go  with  her!" 

"Good  for  you!  How  did  you  persuade  your 
sister?" 

"Didn't.  Ellen  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  party. 
Christine  has  —  has  invited  me  for  the  whole  trip  and 
everything."  She  looked  at  him  anxiously.  "Do  you 
think  it  is  dreadful  of  me  to  take  it  ?  She  truly  wants 
me." 

"  Of  course  not  —  I  think  it  is  splendid.  You  would 
be  foolish  to  refuse." 

She  brightened  happily.  "And  it  is  the  best  time 
for  Del  Monte.  Christine  is  going  to  lend  me  some 
of  her  summer  clothes;  she  has  loads,  and  it  doesn't 
matter  if  thin  things  are  a  little  big.  We  have  been 

148 


DR.    ELLEN 

trying  them  on,  and  I  did  look  so  nice.  There  is  an 
embroidered  blue  linen  —  but  you  won't  be  there." 

"I  might  come  down  over  Sunday." 

"Oh,  will  you?    Will  you,  truly?" 

He  smiled.     "If  I  can,  my  dear." 

"You  are  making  fun  of  me;  but  I  am  so  happy,  I 
don't  care." 

"What  does  your  sister  think  of  it?" 

Her  face  clouded.  "She  doesn't  know  yet,  and  you 
are  not  to  tell  her  —  you  promised.  When  the  time 
comes,  I  shall  just  say  to  her  that  I  am  going.  I  don't 
see  why  I  should  ask  her  permission,  as  if  I  were  a 
child.  Do  you?" 

"Of  course  not.  And  I  really  don't  see  why  she 
should  object."  But  he  had  a  premonition  that  Ellen 
would  object.  Ruth  evidently  shared  it. 

"She  always  objects  to  my  getting  any  fun  out  of 
life,"  she  said  impatiently.  "And  the  worst  of  it  is, 
if  she  makes  a  fuss,  it  will  dampen  my  fun.  I  shall 
go  just  the  same,  but  I'll  feel  horrid.  It  worries  me  to 
death." 

"Why  don't  you  sound  her  about  it?  Perhaps  you 
are  worrying  for  nothing." 

"I  can't  sound  people.    I  always  look  so  guilty." 

"Shall  I?" 

"Oh,  will  you  —  without  letting  her  know?" 

"Yes;  I  think  I  can." 

"You  are  so  good  and  kind."  Her  eyes  were  lifted 
to  his  with  an  intensity  that  troubled  him.  "What 
should  I  do  without  you !  You're  always  so  —  thought- 

149 


DR.    ELLEN 

f ul  —  and  dear  —  and  —  careful  of  me.  I  can't  tell 
you  — '  She  caught  his  hand  in  both  of  hers  and 
held  it  for  a  moment  against  her  blouse.  "  What  shall 
I  do  without  you?"  He  could  feel  the  soft  little 
beating  of  her  heart.  Amsden  was  human;  but  he 
gave  the  hands  a  frank  and  friendly  shake,  then  drew 
his  own  away. 

1  'You're  a  nice  girl,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her. 

"I  thought  I  heard  voices."  Ellen  was  looking 
down  on  them  from  the  other  side  of  the  haycock. 
"Do  you  realize  that  it  is  supper  time?  Rory  and  I 
have  been  waiting  hours  —  she  said  you  were  all 
calling  on  her  somewhere." 

Amsden,  realizing  only  the  temptation  resisted, 
thanked  his  good  angel  as  he  rose.  "We  thought  the 
other  two  callers  would  be  entertainment  enough,"  he 
said,  brushing  the  hay  from  the  back  of  his  coat. 

"  But  they  had  vanished,  too.  I  have  just  discovered 
them  sitting  in  the  hay-loft.  They  said  they  were 
looking  for  eggs." 

They  strolled  back  together  and  Ellen  showed  herself 
unconcernedly  friendly;  yet  Amsden  was  conscious  that 
the  barrier  was  up  again  between  them,  the  barrier  of 
reserve,  half  resentful,  half  anxious,  that  their  after 
noon  of  hard  bodily  labour  had  seemed  partly  to  over 
come.  Obviously,  then,  she  had  seen  just  enough 
over  the  haycock  to  misunderstand,  and  was  nursing 
her  unwillingness  that  he  should  fall  in  love  with 
Ruth.  In  his  irritation  he  almost  wished  that  he  had 
done  that  very  thing. 

150 


DR.    ELLEN 

"You  can't  run  the  universe,  my  tryannical  young 
friend,"  he  thought,  with  a  cool  eye  on  her  slightly 
flushed  face;  she  was  unmistakably  the  Viking  figure 
head  now,  and  aimed  towards  battle.  She  looked  up 
and,  catching  the  glance,  returned  it  steadily.  It  was 
a  silent  declaration  of  war. 

Wallace,  somewhat  sheepish,  was  explaining  to  Rory 
the  difficulties  of  rinding  eggs  in  a  loft,  Christine  beside 
him  smiling  consciously  under  demure  eyelids.  Rory 
on  the  porch  above  listened  grimly,  assenting  with  a 
dry,  " That's  so!"  when  he  paused.  After  they  had 
all  gone  she  rose  with  a  bored  sigh. 

"Poor  fool  of  a  man!"  she  muttered. 


XII 

THAT  evening  proved  unusually  warm.  For  once 
the  sun  seemed  to  have  left  enough  of  its  quality  in  the 
rocks  and  pines  to  defeat  the  mountain  chill,  and  a 
windless  moon,  peering  over  the  peaks,  filled  the  valley 
with  its  calm  and  lonely  light. 

Ellen  was  silent,  almost  severe,  during  supper,  and 
Amsden  found  her  grave  eyes  on  him  more  than  once. 
As  soon  as  the  meal  was  over  she  left  the  room,  and, 
looking  out  of  the  window,  he  saw  her  pacing  up  and 
down  the  road  beneath.  He  stepped  out  and  joined 
her. 

"May  I  come?"  he  began.  "It  is  far  too  good  a 
night  for  the  house." 

She  assented  with  something  of  an  effort,  and  they 
walked  on  in  silence,  broken  by  an  occasional  per 
functory  comment  on  the  blackness  of  the  shadows,  or 
the  aromatic  odours  that  seemed  to  lie  across  the  road 
in  warm  currents  as  they  wound  slowly  down  towards 
the  town. 

"I  should  like  to  see  some  of  the  really  wild  country 
back  of  here,"  Amsden  commented  presently,  feeling 
curiously  tense,  as  though  a  struggle  lay  just  ahead. 
"Who  would  be  a  good  guide?" 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Ned  Spaulding  is  really  the  best;  he  has  hunted 
all  over  this  region.  But  I  doubt  if  he  would  be  a 
very  good  companion  now." 

He  welcomed  the  chance  for  a  personal  opening. 

"Is  he  still  making  trouble  for  you?"  He  half 
expected  a  snub,  but  she  answered  frankly. 

"More  or  less.  But  I  shall  beat  in  the  long  run. 
You  see,  Dr.  Pocock  really  is  ignorant;  he  will  make 
some  bad  blunder." 

"I  don't  know  but  that  a  few  days  in  the  wilds 
would  do  Spaulding  good,"  Amsden  suggested.  "It 
might  straighten  him  out." 

"Yes,"  she  assented.  "He  has  wholly  neglected  his 
work.  He  really  needs  exercise." 

They  turned  and  went  slowly  back.  The  lights  of 
the  cabin  reminded  Amsden  of  Ruth  and  her  new 
project. 

"Miss  O'Hara  says  that  she  is  going  to  Del  Monte 
after  leaving  here,"  he  began  boldly. 

"Yes."  Her  tone  was  guarded,  as  though  she 
suspected  where  he  was  leading,  but  he  went  on  in 
trepidly. 

"I  wish  your  little  sister  could  be  transported  there; 
she  would  get  such  solid  happiness  out  of  it. 

"No  doubt,"  said  Ellen,  drily.  "But  I  am  afraid 
it  is  not  practicable  this  year." 

"I  wish  it  might  be,"  he  persisted,  with  a  gentleness 
that  apologized  for  the  persistence.  "It  would  be 
such  delirious  joy  to  her." 

"Mr.  Amsden,"  said  Ellen,  stopping  abruptly  in  the 


DR.    ELLEN 

road,  "it  is  your  opinion  that  I  don't  care  enough  for 
my  sister's  happiness,  isn't  it?"  Amsden  met  her 
eyes  with  a  tightening  of  his  hands  in  his  coat  pockets, 
but  no  other  sign  of  disturbance. 

"I  don't  think  you  always  realize  in  what  her  happi 
ness  consists,"  he  answered  honestly. 

"And  you  think  that  you  do  care  about  her  happi 
ness?" 

"I  know  that  I  do."  They  stood  facing  each  other 
like  combatants,  the  slope  of  the  road  putting  their 
eyes  on  a  level.  Ellen  spoke  very  quietly: 

"Then  why  do  you  go  on  making  her  care  for  you, 
when  you  know  that  you  don't  care  for  her,  and  never 
will?  Is  that  your  idea  of  increasing  her  happiness?" 

The  shock  of  the  charge  sent  the  colour  to  Amsden's 
face.  His  first  impulse  was  to  angry  denial,  but  he 
waited  till  he  could  speak  with  her  own  calmness. 

"I  think  you  are  unfair  to  her  and  to  me,"  he  said 
finally.  "I  have  not  made  love  to  your  sister." 

She  shrugged  impatiently.  "Oh,  not  in  words,  per 
haps!  I  dare  say  you  have  been  careful  to  avoid 
incriminating  phrases.  I  have  no  patience  with  that 
kind  of  masculine  honour!" 

"You  are  absolutely  mistaken." 

"I  wish  I  could  think  so!  But  what  I  saw  this 
afternoon  —  well,  there  is  no  use  going  into  explana 
tions.  But  when  you  talk  about  making  her  happy, 
it  is  a  little  more  than  I  can  stand!" 

She  turned  away  and  walked  swiftly  up  the  hill, 
leaving  Amsden  as  thoroughly  angry  as  he  had  ever 


DR.    ELLEN 

been  in  his  life.  He  knew  that  the  charge  was  an 
unjust  one;  that  he  had  taken  care  of  Ruth  to  the  very 
best  of  his  ability,  guarded  her  scrupulously  from  her 
self  as  well  as  from  his  human  response  to  her  charm. 
If  she  cared  —  and  a  memory  of  the  sweet,  eager  face 
lifted  to  his  made  him  wince  —  that  was  beyond  his 
control.  No  doubt  any  man  who  had  come  into  her 
life  just  at  that  time  would  have  been  the  object  of  her 
overwhelming  need  to  love.  Only  another  man  might 
have  had  the  good  fortune  —  the  good  sense,  he  called 
it  —  to  care  in  return.  A  mood  of  bitter  self-contempt 
followed  his  anger  as  he  paced  up  and  down  in  the 
moonlight.  The  girl  was  most  lovable;  surely  it 
was  some  dire  lack  in  him  that  he  could  not  love 
her. 

The  night  was  very  still.  Christine  and  Wallace 
had  disappeared  up  the  trail  behind  the  cabin  half  an 
hour  before.  He  had  passed  and  repassed  the  porch 
several  times  before  he  saw  a  figure  huddled  down  in 
a  steamer  chair.  Ellen  had  gone  inside  —  he  had 
heard  the  sharp  closing  of  the  cabin  door  after  her; 
it  must  be  Ruth.  As  he  hesitated,  she  lifted  her  head 
from  her  arm  and  the  moonlight  fell  on  a  pale  and 
desolate  face.  She  looked  at  him  silently. 

" Dozing?"  he  asked  with  an  effort  at  lightness, 
as  he  mounted  the  steps.  She  turned  her  eyes 
away. 

"  Ellen  went  in  there,  if  you  are  looking  for  her," 
she  said  sullenly,  with  a  jerk  of  her  head  towards  the 
open  window  behind  her. 


DR.    ELLEN 

"But  I  am  not  looking  for  anybody,"  he  declared, 
longing  to  run  away,  yet  held  by  the  transparent  misery 
in  every  line  of  her  aspect. 

"No,  you  are  not  looking  for  anybody,"  she  repeated 
recklessly.  "That  is  just  it.  There  has  not  been  a 
moment  when  you  have  not  made  that  —  perfectly 
clear  to  me." 

"I  don't  see  why  I  am  being  scolded,"  Amsden  pro 
tested,  trying  to  keep  her  to  lightness;  but  Ruth  would 
not  be  checked. 

"It  isn't  scolding,  it  is  admiration.  I  have  to  admire 
you  for  the  way  you  have  conducted  yourself.  And 
that  makes  it  all  the  worse,  don't  you  see  ?  For  I  have 
no  right  to  be  angry.  I  can't  hurl  reproaches."  Her 
attempt  at  a  laugh  ended  in  a  gasp.  "I  have  to  com 
pliment  you  on  your  strength  and  your  discretion," 
she  added  bitterly. 

Amsden  stood  before  her  sick  at  heart,  but  out 
wardly  unmoved. 

"Ruth,  don't  let  a  mood  run  away  with  you,"  he 
said  gravely.  "You  didn't  feel  this  way  this  after 
noon,  and  you  won't  to-morrow.  Go  to  bed,  like  a 
good  girl,  and  see  how  different  everything  will  seem 
when  it  is  the  sun  instead  of  this  abominable  moon. 
It  is  enough  to  upset  anyone's  nerves.  Your  sister 
and  I  fought  horribly." 

"But  you  stayed  with  her  —  all  the  evening!" 
Then  the  colour  rushed  into  her  face  and  she  sat  up, 
smoothing  her  hair  with  her  hands.  "I  told  you  I 
had  all  the  petty  feminine  vices,"  she  said  with  an 

156 


DR.    ELLEN 

attempt  at  an  amused  tone  that  wrung  his  heart. 
"What  you  are  seeing  now  is  hurt  vanity." 

"I  suspected  as  much."  They  smiled  at  each  other, 
relieved  at  this  remnant  of  covering  for  the  naked 
truth  between  them.  "Good-night,  spoilt  child." 
They  shook  hands  almost  gaily.  He  turned  to  the 
trail,  realizing,  not  without  impatience,  that  now  it 
would  be  impossible  for  him  to  take  the  next  day's 
stage,  as  he  had  determined  after  Ellen  left  him;  that 
would  magnify  this  last  interview  out  of  all  proportion 
in  Ruth's  memory.  He  must  wait  a  few  days  and  let 
her  prove  to  him  how  entirely  a  matter  of  transient 
mood  the  scene  had  been.  Ellen  would  probably  mis 
understand  his  staying.  Well,  let  her!  He  squared 
his  shoulders  and  threw  back  his  head;  then  halted 
abruptly  as  a  turn  of  the  trail  showed  him  the  figure 
of  a  man  seated  in  the  shadow  of  a  towering  boulder 
just  beneath.  For  an  instant  it  was  not  easy  to  go 
on  down  this  solitude  of  silver-white  crags  and  ink- 
black  pines,  casting  ominous  shadows;  then  he  stepped 
unconcernedly  into  the  moonlight,  and  let  himself 
down  a  pitch  in  the  path  with  a  hand  on  a  projecting 
rock  and  wary  eyes  ahead. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Amsden,  sir.  Don't  let  me 
startle  you;"  it  was  the  welcome  voice  of  Mr.  Gilfillan, 
who  rose  to  meet  him. 

"But  what  are  you  doing  here?"  Amsden  demanded, 
with  a  laugh  for  his  momentary  apprehension.  Mr. 
Gilfillan  stood  gently  clasping  his  little  beard,  his  elbow 
resting  on  the  back  of  his  hand. 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Well,  you  see,  sir,  Ned  Spaulding  is  down  in  the 
town  this  evening,  and  when  it's  moonlight,  he  some 
times  takes  the  trail  home,  up  by  yonder;"  he  nodded 
towards  the  cabin  above  them.  "I  reckoned  I  would 
just  —  well,  fall  in  with  him  for  a  mile  or  so." 

"You  don't  mean — "  Amsden's  eyes  were  turned 
anxiously  to  the  lights  of  the  cabin  —  "that  he  would 
do  anything?" 

"  Oh,  no,  sir;  surely  not.  But  he's  mighty  unsettled, 
poor  fellow,  and  I  thought  I  would  just  —  well,  fall  in 
with  him." 

"If  there  is  any  real  danger,  the  man  ought  to  be 
shut  up,"  Amsden  said  sharply. 

"Oh,  I  think  not  — I  think  not.  I'm  doing  all  I 
can,  Mr.  Amsden.  I  mean  to  spare  M'z  Roderick 
any  —  trouble,  but  I  want  to  straighten  the  poor  fellow 
out  at  the  same  time.  He's  worth  saving." 

"And  so  you  are  sitting  here  on  guard  all  the  even 
ing!"  Amsden  stared  thoughtfully  down  the  white 
ness  of  the  valley  to  the  blue-black  wall  of  jagged  peaks 
as  the  deferred  chill  of  night  seemed  to  rise  and  roll 
about  them  like  a  vapour.  "How  you  do  carry  your 
fellow-beings  on  your  shoulders!" 

"I  reckon  we're  all  part  of  one  whole,  Mr.  Amsden. 
You  just  try  thinking  of  yourself  as  part  of  one  big 
effort,  rather  than  a  little  separate  effort  not  hitched 
to  any  other,  and  see  if  it  don't  — "  his  arm  made  a 
wide  sweep  —  "carry  you  along;  make  you  feel  the 
motion  of  the  earth.  It's  a  mighty  good  thing  to  feel, 
that  motion."  He  was  a  strange  figure  on  the  gaunt 

158 


DR.    ELLEN 

mountainside,  with  his  floating  hair  and  homely, 
likeable  face,  the  little  eyes  lifted,  for  once,  with  the 
earnestness  of  his  conviction.  Amsden  felt  suddenly 
crude  and  young  and  limited.  He  said  nothing,  and 
they  stood  in  silence  until  a  sound  on  the  trail  made 
them  glance  significantly  at  each  other,  then  saunter 
down  to  meet  the  shadow  mounting. 

Long  hours  passed  before  Amsden  could  get  to 
sleep  that  night,  but  he  had  forgotten  Ruth.  His 
thoughts  were  all  of  Ellen  —  angry,  troubled  thoughts, 
crossed  with  persistent  anxiety  at  the  memory  of  Ned 
Spaulding's  sullen  face,  sharply  black  and  white  in  the 
moonlight.  The  preacher's  simple  tact  at  the  encoun 
ter  roused  his  wonder,  stirred  in  him  new  thoughts  that 
seemed  to  have  been  coming  to  him  out  of  the  bigness 
of  the  mountains. 

"I  am  glad  I  didn't  die  without  knowing  Gilfillan," 
was  his  conclusion.  A  floating  vision  of  a  Viking  ship 
finally  bore  him  off  to  sleep. 


159 


XIII 

AMSDEN  awoke  the  next  morning  with  a  strong  sense 
of  depression,  a  sense  of  pleasant  things  spoiled  and 
the  holiday  ended.  It  was  a  soft  grey  day  that  would 
have  been  charming  to  him  ordinarily,  but  that  seemed 
only  dull  and  dejected  like  everything  else  in  his 
reluctance  at  mounting  to  the  cabin  —  a  reluctance  he 
was  ashamed  of  in  the  face  of  the  gay  serenity  Ruth 
presented.  Her  eyes  met  his  clearly,  without  self- 
consciousness  or  defiance,  her  laughter  was  unmis 
takably  spontaneous.  Evidently  she  had  thrown  off 
the  mood  of  the  night  before  as  lightly  as  she  did  her 
other  moods,  whose  swift  changes  from  black  to  bril 
liant  had  always  been  an  amazement  to  him.  She  and 
Christine  were  seated  on  the  floor  in  a  chaos  of  paper 
patterns  and  sewing  materials,  cutting  out  garments  of 
blue  and  white  calico  with  feverish  absorption. 

"We  have  decided  to  make  the  world  better  and 
happier,  and  it's  great  fun,"  she  explained,  displaying 
the  front  of  a  child's  frock.  "This  is  for  the  little  fat 
Flannery,  so  I'm  allowing  —  that  is  what  you  call  it 
when  you  make  a  thing  bigger  than  the  pattern." 

"And  this  is  for  the  little  thin  Flannery,"  echoed 
Christine,  holding  up  her  creation.  Wallace,  seated 

160 


DR.    ELLEN 

on  the  piano  stool,  looked  down  on  them  disapprov 
ingly. 

"Well,  I  never  thought  I  should  see  the  missionary 
spirit  coming  out  in  you,  Christine!  It  just  shows. 
Are  you  going  to  do  this  all  the  morning?" 

"All  day  and  all  to-morrow." 

"Amsden,  I  guess  we'd  better  go  back  to  Rory. 
This  is  no  place  for  us."  But  Amsden  was  interested. 

"What  started  you  towards  good  works  so  sud 
denly?"  he  asked  Ruth. 

"A  poem  in  the  Gallop  Weekly  Gazette.     It  said, 

"When  you're  feeling  somewhat  blue, 
Something  for  someone  else  go  do.' 

Don't  you  think  it's  a  nice  poem?  We  cut  it  out  at 
once." 

"I'll  bet  Ellen  wrote  it,"  said  Wallace.  "Well,  I 
suppose  it  is  a  good  training  for  a  poor  man's  wife." 

"What  a  horrid  thought,"  objected  Christine. 
"Don't  ever  marry  a  poor  man,  Ruth;  you  would 
have  to  watch  for  him  at  the  window  every  night. 
They  always  do." 

"I  think  that  would  be  fun,"  said  Ruth,  pinning  up 
the  fat  Flannery  sleeves  with  a  capable  air. 

"You  have  a  bourgeois  soul.  How  should  you  like 
to  dine  at  six?  I  suppose  they  do  that  because  they 
can't  afford  much  lunch  and  they  are  too  hungry  to 
wait  till  a  decent  hour." 

"Not  at  all;  it  is  because  they  keep  one  girl,  and  she 
has  to  get  through  some  time."  Ruth's  tone  of  prac- 

161 


DR.    ELLEN 

tical  experience  made  them  laugh,  it  was  so  little 
congruous  with  her  personality.  "I  shouldn't  mind 
anything  if  it  was  a  nice  poor  man." 

"Good  for  you,  Ruth,"  declared  Wallace.  " You're 
the  right  stuff;  you  will  get  your  reward.  We'll  let 
Christine  keep  her  old  millionnaire." 

"But  we  will  go  and  visit  her,"  amended  Ruth. 
"Oh,  bother  that  telephone!  I  wish  Ellen  would  stay 
home  and  answer  it."  She  scrambled  up  and  they 
rilled  her  absence  with  the  usual  perfunctory  talk  of 
people  too  near  a  telephone  conversation  to  ignore  it 
and  too  courteous  to  listen.  Presently  she  broke  in 
on  them  through  the  open  door  with  a  reproving, 
"Who  has  taken  the  telephone  pad?"  No  one  would 
plead  guilty,  so  after  a  brief  search  she  came  back  to 
her  work  with  a  careless,  "Oh,  well,  I  shall  remember. 
Christine,  I  am  going  to  featherstitch  my  tucks,"  she 
added. 

"Oh,  Ruth!  If  I  try  that,  the  thin  Flannery  will  be 
a  grown  woman  before  she  gets  her  gown." 

"But  think  how  dear  it  would  look,  done  in  blue 
cotton.  Besides,  I  shall  have  to  go  off  and  stitch  on 
the  machine  if  I  don't  and  I  can't  bear  to  leave.  Let's 
make  Mr.  Amsden  read  to  us." 

"For  pity's  sake,  do,"  sighed  Wallace. 

Amsden  picked  up  the  imperishably  funny  "Rudder 
Grange,"  and  a  contented  half-hour  followed,  marred 
only  by  Christine's  incessant  whispering  about  her 
work.  He  had  laughed  himself  partly  out  of  the 
depression  with  which  the  day  had  started  when  the 

162 


DR.    ELLEN 

door  opened  and  Dr.  Ellen  came  in.  His  rising  to 
his  feet  was  as  much  an  instinct  of  self-defence  as  of 
courtesy. 

"I  must  interrupt  you  a  moment,"  she  said,  and,  to 
Amsden's  surprise,  her  eyes  went  straight  to  his  with 
quiet  friendliness,  a  quality  they  had  never  expressed 
before.  "Ruth,  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  be  back; 
I  am  going  over  to  Bald  Mountain  to  visit  a  little  with 
Mrs.  Garcia.  I  have  my  lunch  with  me." 

"But  it  is  thirty  miles,  there  and  back,"  Ruth 
exclaimed. 

"I  know.  I  shall  probably  be  home  late;  Ying  can 
save  me  some  supper.  Good  by,  everybody."  Again 
Amsden  found  her  eyes  turned  to  his,  and  now  he  was 
certain  that  they  conveyed  an  intentional  message.  He 
felt  curiously  elated.  All  his  just  anger  against  her 
was  wiped  out  by  this  subtle  intimation  that,  for  some 
unknown  reason,  he  was  forgiven.  He  read  on  me 
chanically  with  little  attention  for  the  story.  Ellen 
was  not  capricious,  nor  had  she  Ruth's  volatility;  if 
she  had  put  away  her  antagonism,  it  meant  that  in 
some  mysterious  way  he  had  been  exonerated. 

The  girls  had  to  be  dragged  from  their  work  at 
luncheon  time,  and  Christine  insisted  on  featherstitch- 
ing  in  the  intervals.  She  and  Ruth  chanted  in  chorus, 

"When  you're  feeling  somewhat  blue, 
Something  for  someone  else  go  do," 

at  every  pause. 

"Amsden,  we've  got  to  get  in  line,"  Wallace  ex- 
'63 


DR.    ELLEN 

claimed  finally.  "  Everybody  is  making  the  world 
happier  except  us.  There's  Ellen  gone  off — "  He 
was  interrupted  by  an  anguished  exclamation  from 
Ruth. 

"Oh,  I  forgot!    I  forgot  Ellen's  message!" 

"Was  it  very  important?"  asked  Amsden. 

"Yes;  it  was  old  Mr.  Balch.  Oh,  she  will  be  simply 
wild!" 

"Wouldn't  they  have  telephoned  again  if  they  had 
needed  her  so  very  much?" 

"But  they  are  miles  from  a  telephone."  Ruth 
looked  ready  to  cry.  "I  shan't  dare  tell  her." 

Amsden  consulted  his  watch.  "She  has  been  gone 
less  than  an  hour  and  a  half ;  I  don't  see  why  I  couldn't 
overtake  her."  He  rose,  buttoning  his  coat  for  action. 
"Ying  can  saddle  while  you  point  out  the  road  to  me. 
Don't  let's  lose  a  minute." 

Ruth,  for  once,  was  eager  to  have  him  go.  Ellen 
had  taken  the  sedate  Adam,  so  that  the  fleet  little 
chestnut  Eve  was  left  for  him,  and  she  would  certainly 
ride  slowly,  the  first  few  miles  of  so  long  a  trip;  the 
prospect  of  overtaking  her  was  not  too  discouraging. 
Less  than  five  minutes  later  he  was  mounting. 

"If  a  girl  and  a  half  rides  a  mile  and  a  half  in  an 
hour  and  a  half,"  Wallace  began,  "how  long  will  it 
take  a  man  and  a  half  on  a-  But  Amsden  had 
ridden  off  without  waiting  for  the  rest  of  the  problem. 

The  chance  for  active  effort  with  some  end  in  view 
beyond  the  effort  itself  was  exhilarating.  Within  the 
past  few  days  Amsden's  refreshed  mind  and  body  had 

164 


DR.    ELLEN 

begun  to  chafe  at  the  aimlessness  that  had  at  first 
proved  so  delicious,  at  the  perpetual  "hanging  round," 
as  he  expressed  it.  He  was  not  quite  ready  for  the 
city  and  his  work  there;  but  he  was  beginning  to  be 
impatient  for  a  more  grown-up  manner  of  life  and  for 
achievement  of  some  sort.  The  consciousness  of  an 
important  errand,  combined  with  the  amazing  prospect 
of  a  friendly  welcome  in  its  execution,  strung  him  to  a 
tensity  of  elation  that  he  had  not  felt  in  years.  The 
chestnut  mare  was  in  wild  spirits  herself  and  flew 
along  the  road  with  ears  set  for  mischief,  greeting 
familiar  landmarks  with  snorting  affectations  of  terror 
that  delighted  them  both  and  that  cost  them  nothing 
in  speed.  They  were  enjoying  themselves  so  thor 
oughly  that  they  might  have  passed  a  sober  brown 
horse  tied  before  a  cottage  where  the  Bald  Mountain 
road  branched  off  from  the  stage  route,  if  a  loud 
whinny  had  not  startled  Eve  to  a  shrill  response. 
Recognizing  Adam,  Amsden  pulled  up,  frankly  disap 
pointed  that  his  pursuit  should  have  ended  at  three 
miles.  Ellen  evidently  saw  him,  for  she  came  out  at 
once. 

"Am  I  wanted?    I  have  finished  here,"  she  said. 

"I  thought  I  was  to  have  a  ten-mile  chase  at  least," 
he  complained,  dismounting  and  feeling  in  his  pockets 
for  the  message  Ruth  had  written. 

"They  called  me  in  here  to  set  a  sprained  thumb, 
and  I  had  to  take  dinner  with  them  or  else  hurt  feel 
ings,"  she  explained.  The  shadow  of  unwillingness 
that  had  hung  over  any  previous  friendliness  she  had 

165 


DR.    ELLEN 

shown  was  wholly  gone;  her  smile  was  that  of  a  com 
rade  as  she  took  the  message  and  let  him  strap  her 
medical  bag  in  place. 

' 'It  came  over  two  hours  ago  and  we  are  horribly 
apologetic  for  forgetting  to  give  it  to  you,"  he  said. 
Her  face  clouded  as  she  read. 

"  Oh,  thunder!"  she  exclaimed.  The  expression  was 
so  unexpected,  and  so  unlike  her,  that  a  laugh  broke 
from  Amsden.  She  echoed  it  ruefully  as  she  mounted. 

"But  it  is  my  best  patient,  my  bulwark,  my  last 
stand!"  she  said  in  humorous  desperation.  "Pocock 
has  seduced  the  son  and  the  daughter-in-law,  but  the 
old  man  has  stayed  by  me.  And  he  is  the  prize  patient 
of  Gallop.  He  pays!  Pays  well,  too.  Ruth  ought 
to  be— !" 

"Pays!  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  ever  give  that  a 
thought?"  She  had  turned  her  horse  down  the  side 
road  and  he  accompanied  her  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"Don't  you  in  your  work?" 

"Oh,  yes  —  rather.  But  I  thought  you  were  too 
high-minded.  I  have  a  terribly  exalted  idea  of  your 
public  character,"  he  confessed. 

"I  am  not  too  exalted  to  pay  my  bills,  thank  you. 
Besides,  I  want  to  protect  the  old  fellow  —  Pocock  will 
make  so  much  more  out  of  him  than  I  do.  He  shan't 
have  him!"  she  added,  touching  up  her  horse,  who 
grunted  dismally  but  obeyed. 

"There,  I  knew  it  was  something  more  public- 
spirited  than  your  own  profit;"  and  Amsden  sighed. 

"You  can  call  it  vanity  if  that  will  make  you  feel 
166 


DR.    ELLEN 

any  easier.  My  pride  will  be  in  a  white  rage  if  he 
gets  away  from  me.  That  wretched  Ruth !  The  tele 
phone  pad  was  right  there  on  a  chair,  and  as  there 
was  nothing  written  on  it  I  didn't  think  to  ask  her." 

"Do  you  suppose  he  is  very  ill?" 

"Oh,  no.  He  has  attacks  of  indigestion  now  and 
then  and  gets  frightened  half  to  death.  And  this  time, 
you  see,  when  I  didn't  come  —  there  is  Pocock's  chance 
at  last.  The  only  hope  is  that  he  was  away.  Now  we 
must  do  a  little  climbing;  I  am  taking  a  short  cut." 

They  passed  through  a  gate  and  straight  up  the  side 
of  a  bald  and  stony  ridge,  a  few  lank  cattle  staring  at 
them  with  stupid  amazement,  then  floundering  out  of 
their  way.  The  horses  mounted  with  the  ease  of  goats, 
choosing  their  own  footing,  and  Ellen,  as  unconcerned 
as  though  in  a  chair  at  home,  talked  to  him  for  the 
first  time  in  their  acquaintance  with  her  face  turned 
fully  towards  him. 

"The  Balch  family  has  been  nearly  rent  in  two 
between  Dr.  Pocock  and  me,"  she  explained.  "Old 
Peter  is  a  fine,  sturdy,  pious  old  German  —  he  is  the 
big  lumber  man,  up  here;  and  young  Peter  is  a  gentle, 
sentimental,  pious  young  German  who  would  probably 
have  been  a  minor  poet  in  another  sphere  of  life. 
For  lack  of  that  outlet  he  is  rapidly  becoming  a  hypo 
chondriac." 

"How  did  Pocock  get  hold  of  him?" 

"Oh,  easily.  It  needed  only  a  little  solemn  interest 
in  his  symptoms,  a  little  talking  aside  with  his  wife 
about  his  delicately  balanced  constitution,  and  they 

167 


DR.    ELLEN 

were  both  ready  to  swear  by  him.  Ah!  How  I  hate 
the  tricks  of  the  trade!"  she  ended  with  a  blow  of  her 
fist  on  her  high  pommel  as  they  scrambled  up  the  last 
steep  pitch,  and  paused  on  the  top  of  the  ridge.  Below 
them  lay  a  deep  canon,  wide  at  this  point  but  narrow 
ing  sharply  to  the  northwest.  The  slope  on  their  side 
was  thick  with  yellow  pine  and  tremulous  aspen,  but 
the  opposite  ridge  was  fairly  open  and  showed  the  cut 
of  a  road  along  its  flank.  From  the  hidden  bottom  of 
the  gorge  the  sound  of  a  creek  came  faintly. 

"There  is  the  proper  road  where  we  should  be," 
Ellen  explained,  nodding  towards  the  opposite  slope. 
"But  you  can't  cross  the 'canon:  we  should  have  had 
to  go  six  miles  round  at  least  from  where  we  were. 
There  is  an  old  road  on  this  side  that  is  good  enough 
for  horseback,  and  it  brings  us  out  on  the  real  road  in 
about  four  miles." 

Amsden  was  looking  intently  at  a  cart  and  horse 
moving  swiftly  along  the  opposite  hillside.  His  first 
thought  had  been  how  oddly  minute  it  looked,  like  a 
sidewalk  toy,  with  no  other  gauge  of  distance  to  accent 
the  width  of  the  valley.  Then  an  unpleasant  thought 
struck  him. 

"  Does  that  cart  look  familiar  to  you  ?"  he  demanded. 
Ellen  needed  only  one  glance. 

"Pocock!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Can't  we  get  there  first?"  Their  eyes  met  over 
the  idea,  dismay  yielding  to  the  light  of  adventure. 

"We  can  try  it,"  she  said  with  a  note  of  laughter  in 
her  voice,  plunging  forward.  A  three  minutes'  scramble 

168 


DR.    ELLEN 

down  the  steep  descent,  their  horses  squatting  and 
sliding,  brought  them  to  a  rough  road,  stony  and  un 
even,  ploughed  with  gulleys,  but  at  least  clear  of  trees 
and  fairly  level. 

" Shall  we  change  horses?"  He  was  ready  to  spring 
off  at  her  word,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"I  can  get  more  out  of  Adam  in  a  real  emergency. 
We  mustn't  start  off  too  furiously."  she  added.  "It 
is  five  miles  to  the  house." 

The  horses  cantered  easily  side  by  side,  avoiding  or 
scrambling  over  obstacles  with  a  capable  air  of  knowing 
their  business.  The  soft  grey  day  had  not  sensibly 
changed  colour  or  tone  since  early  morning:  it  seemed 
as  though  they  might  continue  to  take  from  it  as  many 
hours  as  they  pleased  without  leaving  it  any  more  spent, 
as  one  might  take  coins  from  a  magic  purse  that  was 
always  full.  Through  an  occasional  opening  in  the 
trees  they  could  see  the  little  trotting  horse  on  the  op 
posite  slope  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  of  them,  moving 
with  mechanical  evenness.  Pocock  had  a  better  and 
a  much  shorter  road  as  well  as  a  swift  steed.  Their 
work  was  cut  out  for  them,  and  they  bent  to  it  with 
rising  excitement. 

So  long  as  the  enemy  was  not  aware  of  them,  they 
gained  on  him  rapidly.  Soon  they  were  abreast,  and 
as  the  canon  walls  came  nearer  together  they  darted 
out  ahead  across  a  hundred  yards  of  open  ground. 
It  was  then  that  they  were  discovered:  the  roads  were 
near  enough  now  for  them  to  see  the  quick  turn  of  the 
doctor's  head  in  their  direction,  and  the  momentary 

169 


DR.    ELLEN 

pause  of  his  horse,  as  though  sharply  pulled  up.  Ellen 
on  her  cavalry  saddle  was  an  unmistakable  figure  in 
that  region.  The  doctor  went  evenly  ahead  again 
with  no  sign  of  having  seen  them,  but  a  moment  later, 
when  a  group  of  pines  gave  him  shelter,  they  heard  his 
horse  break  into  a  wild  gallop.  He  emerged  at  a 
calm  trot ;  but  there  were  other  sheltering  groves  ahead 
for  him  and  a  steep  gravelly  hill  for  them.  Ellen's 
eyes  were  shining  with  laughter.  For  the  first  time 
Amsden  saw  the  strong,  unbroken  youth  that  underlay 
the  maturity  life  had  thrust  upon  her.  She  was  still 
his  Viking  figurehead,  but  gloriously  at  play. 

The  hill  put  Pocock  ahead  of  them,  but  they  plunged 
away  from  him  on  the  down  slope.  The  canon  walls 
were  now  so  near  together  that,  but  for  the  trees,  they 
could  not  have  kept  up  the  farce  of  not  seeing  each  other. 

''Whoever  gets  to  the  gate  first,  wins,"  said  Ellen. 
"We  can't  race  openly,  you  know!"  The  gallop  of 
the  other  horse  was  close  behind  them. 

"Then  we  get  there  first,"  returned  Amsden,  bend 
ing  down  jockey  fashion  with  a  touch  of  the  heel  that 
sent  Eve  scudding  ahead.  Adam  dashed  after  her, 
and  the  rocking  canter  changed  suddenly  to  the  smooth 
ness  of  a  run.  The  grey  air  streamed  over  them,  cool 
and  milky  soft,  as  they  skimmed  into  the  last  thicket 
between  them  and  victory.  Then  defeat  loomed 
before  them  in  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  pine,  lying  stark 
and  straight  across  their  path.  Amsden  shot  a  glance 
into  the  tangled  growth  on  either  side,  and  his  eyes 
met  Ellen's. 

170 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Can  they  jump  it?" 

"They've  got  to!" 

They  flew  on  with  speed  unchecked,  whips  ready. 
He  felt  the  falter  of  astonishment  in  the  mare's  gait, 
but  Adam  was  plunging  sturdily  ahead,  and  the  whip 
brought  her  up  snorting  beside  him.  There  was  a 
quick  lurch,  the  striking  of  a  hoof,  the  jar  of  alighting: 
three  minutes  later  he  had  flung  himself  down  and 
opened  the  gate  to  victory.  Pocock  was  not  even 
within  earshot. 

Ellen  was  flushed,  radiant,  splendid  with  life  and 
satisfaction,  but  Amsden's  spirits  were  suddenly 
drowned  in  a  wave  of  cold  fright,  not  for  himself. 

"Had  you  ever  jumped  either  of  them  before?"  he 
demanded. 

"Never,"  she  laughed. 

"How  could  I  have  let  you  do  it!" 

She  still  laughed.  "Wasn't  it  glorious!  You  must 
walk  them  up  and  down  after  I  have  gone  in.  Poor 
Pocock  —  isn't  he  in  a  rage,  though!" 

"Will  he  turnback?" 

"Not  he!  But  he  can't  get  my  old  man  while  I  am 
on  the  field."  She  dropped  the  reins  and  stretched 
her  arms  out  wide,  lifting  her  heated  face  to  the  cool 
air.  "Oh,  isn't  it  good  to  ride,  and  to  beat!"  she 
cried,  curling  her  fingers  tightly  into  her  upturned 
palms.  Amsden  shivered:  "//  she  had  fallen!"  was 
his  dominant  thought. 

The  road  mounted  past  the  rough  shanties  and 
barracks  of  a  logging  camp  to  the  more  substantial 

171 


DR.    ELLEN 

house  of  Peter  Balch,  set  in  a  waste  of  stumps,  but 
showing  glimpses  of  the  ancestral  taste  in  fantastic 
rock- work,  and  an  arbour  guarded  by  two  little  painted 
iron  gnomes.  A  woman  looked  out  eagerly  from  an 
upper  window  as  they  halted,  and  they  could  hear  her 
running  down  the  stairs. 

"Poor  Minnie,  with  her  hopes  all  set  on  Pocock," 
Ellen  murmured  as  she  dismounted.  Then  the  smile 
vanished  before  a  look  of  alert  concern  as  another 
sound  came  to  them  from  the  open  window  above,  a 
sound  of  hoarse,  difficult  breathing.  Race  and  rivalry 
were  forgotten:  she  caught  her  bag  from  the  saddle, 
and  ran  up  the  steps  just  as  a  young  woman  with  a 
frightened  face  threw  open  the  door  for  her.  Amsden 
could  hear  her  quick  step  on  the  bare  stairs  within, 
the  quiet  strength  of  her  voice  speaking  in  the  room 
above:  then  there  was  silence,  but  for  the  distressed 
breathing,  an  active  silence  in  which  he  seemed  to  see 
her  taking  all  this  fright  and  suffering  up  into  her 
steady  hands  and  quieting  it.  He  was  humbly  grate 
ful  that  he  could  do  something  for  her  as  he  led  the 
steaming  horses  away. 

He  had  had  time  to  walk  them  until  they  were  fairly 
cool,  and  to  rub  them  down  with  handfuls  of  grass 
before  Dr.  Pocock  came  jogging  peacefully  up  the 
road,  his  horse  as  cool  and  composed  as  himself,  but 
for  a  telltale  ridge  of  foam  that  had  been  overlooked 
on  the  breeching. 

"  So  my  colleague  is  already  here  —  that's  good, 
that's  good,"  was  his  genial  greeting  as  he  pulled  up 

172 


DR.    ELLEN 

beside  Amsden  and  held  out  a  patronizing  hand  over 
the  wheel. 

"Yes,  she  is  here,"  Amsden  assented,  taking  the 
hand  as  briefly  as  possible,  but  amusedly  interested  in 
the  doctor's  tactics. 

"She  is  fortunate  to  have  a  companion  in  her  rides," 
Pocock  went  on.  "  It's  a  lonely  business,  this  travelling 
about  the  mountains,  Mr.  Amsden:  she  does  well  to 
take  time  for  pleasure  jaunts.  I  only  wish  I  could. 
But  the  suffering,  the  suffering — !"  And  he  shook 
his  head  with  eyes  solemnly  reminiscent  of  painful 
scenes.  Amsden  resented  the  implication  of  his  words, 
and  was  still  more  irritated  by  the  impossibility  of  any 
direct  reply.  He  could  not  quite  let  it  pass. 

"I  never  have  known  anyone  whose  devotion  to 
work  was  so  whole-souled,"  he  said,  his  tone  success 
fully  casual. 

"Ah,  surely,  yes!  No  young  lady  could  be  more  in 
earnest,"  was  the  equivocal  answer,  given  warmly, 
but  with  a  slight  smile  that  made  Amsden's  right  hand 
automatically  clench.  "Ah,  here  comes  my  special 
patient,"  he  added,  as  a  melancholy  young  man,  with 
a  three  days'  growth  of  blond  beard  on  his  chin,  ap 
peared  from  the  house.  The  doctor  drove  forward  to 
meet  him,  and  Amsden,  the  two  bridles  over  his  arm, 
seated  himself  on  a  stump  and  watched  the  interview 
that  followed  with  an  echoing  of  Ellen's  sharp  disgust 
for  the  "tricks  of  the  trade."  He  had  no  need  to  hear 
the  words:  the  adroit  game  was  clearly  pantomimed. 
A  bottle  was  produced,  with  earnest  directions:  young 

173 


DR.    ELLEN 

Peter  placed  it  reverently  on  the  porch,  then  got  into 
the  cart,  and  they  drove  off  together,  the  doctor  favour 
ing  Amsden  with  a  florid  wave  of  his  hat. 

"Fat  hypocrite!"  was  Amsden's  impatient  thought 
as  he  nodded  coolly  in  response. 

An  hour  had  passed  before  Ellen  came  out,  followed 
by  the  young  woman  she  had  called  Minnie.  As 
Amsden  brought  the  horses  up  to  the  door,  he  noticed 
with  poignant  relief  that  the  harsh  breathing  upstairs 
had  ceased.  It  had  been  hard  to  get  the  sound  out  of 
his  ears. 

"Now,  Minnie,  you  understand  everything?"  she 
was  saying  as  she  drew  on  her  gloves.  "I  don't  expect 
any  more  trouble  this  time,  but  I  will  be  up  in  a  few 
days.  What  is  this?"  she  added,  picking  up  Peter's 
bottle,  and  examining  the  label.  "Dr.  Pocock's  Pre 
scription,  —  cough,  inflammation,  nervous  disorders  — 
it  seems  to  cover  a  good  many  diseases,  Minnie." 

"Oh,  it's  a  wonderful  remedy,  Dr.  Ellen,"  Minnie 
assured  her.  "Peter  has  had  two  bottles,  and,  my, 
he's  another  person.  Lots  of  the  folks  are  taking  it, 
and  they  keep  it  at  the  store  now.  You  see,  it  isn't  a 
patent  medicine,  it's  a  regular  prescription." 

Ellen  appeared  thoughtfully  interested.  "I  see!" 
she  commented.  "Well,  I  must  have  a  look  at  it. 
Good-night:  call  me  any  moment  if  your  father  feels 
he  wants  me." 

"You  just  try  a  bottle  of  the  Prescription,"  Minnie 
called  after  her,  evidently  hopeful  of  making  a  convert. 

"Oh,  won't  I  try  it!"  said  Ellen,  with  meaning  as 
174 


DR.    ELLEN 

they  rode  away.  "This  very  night,  if  there  is  a  bottle 
left  in  Gallop." 

"Not  on  yourself,  I  hope?"  Amsden  suggested. 

"That  won't  be  necessary:  I  have  a  better  way  in 
my  laboratory.  I  found  my  poor  old  man  very  ill," 
she  added. 

"It  was  not  indigestion,  then?" 

"No:  a  serious  heart  attack.  It  is  over  for  this 
time,  but  — "  She  fell  into  musing  silence.  Amsden, 
remembering  her  covert  hostility  on  their  last  ride 
together,  accepted  her  mood  contentedly,  wondering 
if  he  should  ever  know  why  he  had  been  so  suddenly 
taken  into  friendship.  Perhaps  she  felt  his  thought; 
or  perhaps  the  words  that  came  like  an  answer  had 
been  in  her  mind  all  day. 

"Mr.  Amsden,  I  owe  you  an  apology."  Her  face 
flushed  a  little,  but  her  voice  was  direct  and  earnest. 
"I  think  I  was  very  unjust  last  night.  I  hope  you 
will  forget  what  I  said." 

"What  makes  you  think  otherwise  now?"  he  asked 
after  a  pause. 

"When  I  left  you  and  went  in,  I  threw  myself  down 
on  the  couch  by  the  window.  I  did  not  know  Ruth 
was  on  the  porch  until  you  spoke  to  her." 

"And  you  heard—?" 

"I  went  away  as  quickly  as  I  could  when  she  —  but 
I  inevitably  heard  what  she  was  saying.  It  put  you  in 
a  very  different  light.  I  can't  forgive  not  playing  fair 
in  anyone,  man  or  woman!" 

"But  you  believe  now  that  I  have  played  fair?" 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Yes.  I  ought  to  have  known  that  you  would,  but 
I  was  troubled,  and  rather  ready  to  be  unjust.  I 
think  I  wanted  a  grievance  against  you.  But  you  met 
her  so  —  so  beautifully,  I  was  ashamed."  She  held 
out  her  hand.  "Is  it  all  right?" 

"It  is  very  much  all  right!  I  have  so  wanted  to  be 
friends  with  you,"  he  added  impulsively. 

"Yes,  I  think  we  could  have  been  good  friends," 
she  admitted. 

"It  isn't  too  late,  is  it?" 

"I  don't  believe  it  will  be  —  practicable."  The 
thought  of  Ruth  rose  between  them,  and  they  turned 
hurriedly  from  it.  "Besides,  you  have  been  criticising 
me,"  she  added.  "You  do  still." 

"You  are  so  strong,  one  has  to!  It  is  an  instinctive 
effort  to  keep  you  in  your  place." 

"What  is  my  place?" 

"I  suppose  I  was  referring  to  the  good  old  idea  that 
the  man  shall  be  the  head  of  the  woman." 

"It  is  a  very  bad  old  idea!" 

"So  it  is.  And  yet  the  primitive  impulse  towards 
headship  isn't  all  civilized  out  of  us,  I'm  afraid.  We 
shall  have  a  big  fight  yet,  you  and  I,  and  the  better 
man  will  win."  They  smiled  at  each  other,  and  the 
curves  of  her  mouth  were  femininely  sweet.  He  could 
not  keep  away  from  the  dangerous  topic.  "Do  you 
really  mean  that  we  can't  be  friends,  that  you  won't 
let  me  ride  with  you  now  and  then?"  The  shadow 
came  back  to  her  face  and  she  hesitated. 

"Mr.  Amsden,"  she  said  finally,  her  eyes  on  the 
176 


DR.    ELLEN 

road  ahead,  "I  care  more  for  Ruth's  friendship  and 
affection  than  I  do  for  anything  on  earth.  Isn't  that 
—  answer  enough?" 

He  knew  that  it  was  and  accepted  it  without  protest. 
"Only  you  must  not  take  what  you  heard  last  night 
too  seriously,"  he  said  presently,  with  an  effort,  "or 
think  that  I  do.  A  momentary  mood,  with  her — " 

"Yes,  I  understand.  And  she  forgets  things.  Oh, 
it  will  be  all  right.  She  has  to  take  what  comes  to 
her,  poor  baby!" 

"Do  you  want  me  to  go  away?" 

"I  don't  believe  it  would  make  any  difference.  No, 
stay  as  long  as  you  had  intended,  and  we  will  give  her 
all  the  good  time  we  can."  She  threw  back  her  head 
with  an  impatient  movement.  "There,  that  is  fin 
ished.  Now  let's  get  home." 

She  put  her  horse  to  a  canter,  and  they  left  the  topic 
behind  them  in  the  canon.  At  the  edge  of  the  town 
they  separated,  Amsden  to  find  a  bottle  of  the  Pre 
scription  and  bring  it  up  to  her  at  supper  time.  Eve 
objected  violently  to  being  torn  from  Adam  and  the 
home  road,  and  her  petulant  impishness  was  so  devious 
in  its  ways  of  expression  that  Amsden  felt  mildly 
thankful  when  he  and  the  Prescription  arrived  at  the 
Dorn  cottage  intact. 

"I  won't  keep  you  half  an  hour,  old  girl,"  he  assured 
her  with  an  apologetic  hand  on  her  soft  muzzle  as  he 
left  her  securely  fastened. 

Wallace,  who  was  dressing  with  his  door  frankly 
thrown  back,  greeted  him  with  a  loud: 

177 


DR.    ELLEN 

"You're  a  nice  one!'*  as  he  came  upstairs. 

"What  have  I  done?"  he  asked  in  all  unconscious 
ness. 

"Well,  you  haven't  made  the  world  any  better  and 
happier,  clearing  out  for  the  whole  day,  let  me  tell 
you." 

"Oh,  nonsense.    Wasn't  I  sent?" 

"When  the  little  boy  is  sent  to  the  grocery,  he  isn't 
supposed  to  take  in  the  circus  on  the  way  home.  You 
will  have  some  making  up  to  do,  if  I'm  any  judge  of  the 
signs.  Girls  are  the  deuce,"  Wallace  added  sympa 
thetically. 

Amsden  turned  to  his  own  room  with  an  expressive 
shrug.  He  was  hungry  and  tired,  and  the  prospect  of 
having  to  deal  with  feminine  complexities  irritated 
him.  He  would  have  stayed  away  but  for  the  thought 
that  Ellen  might  be  paying  in  some  way  for  his  defec 
tion. 

He  found  Ruth  alone  in  the  living-room,  sitting 
dejectedly  on  the  rug  before  the  fire.  If  she  had  met 
him  with  coldness  or  reproach,  she  would  have 
found  him  coolly  impenitent.  But  she  only  looked  up 
at  him  with  a  little  wavering  smile,  just  as  he  had  so 
often  seen  Nell  and  Poppy  look  when  denied  something 
and  trying  to  be  good  about  it;  and  he  melted  at  once. 

"How  did  the  Flannery  dresses  get  on  without  me?" 
he  asked,  bringing  a  pile  of  cushions  for  her,  and  a 
chair  for  himself. 

"We  didn't  do  much  more  on  them.  Christine  and 
Will  went  for  a  walk." 

178 


DR.    ELLEN 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 

"I  don't  know  —  just  sat"  she  said  forlornly;  then 
she  seemed  ashamed  of  her  answer,  for  she  smiled  up 
at  him,  and  added  quickly,  "  Did  you  have  a  nice  time  ?" 

"Very:  though  I,  too,  just  sat  a  good  deal  of  the 
time,  holding  the  horses.  Did  your  sister  tell  you 
about  our  adventures?" 

Her  lips  stiffened  at  the  mention  of  Ellen.  "No:  I 
haven't  seen  her.  I  wish  I  ever  had  any  adventures! 
A  girl's  life  is  so  hideously  tame."  She  moved  restlessly 
among  her  cushions.  "Don't  you  sometimes  feel 
that  you'll  die  if  you  can't  have  a  good  time  this 
minute?" 

"Suppose  we  have  one  to-night,"  Amsden  suggested 
with  creditable  enthusiasm.  She  caught  fire  at  once, 
sitting  up  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  let's !    What  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"Why  not  a  dance?" 

"Beautiful!  We  will  clear  the  room  —  and  Chris 
tine  and  I  will  put  on  low  neck!  Christine!  Hurry 
down!" 

Christine  dashed  down  the  stairs  with  feverish  ex 
citement.  "What  is  it?  What  is  happening?" 

"We  are  going  to  have  a  dance  to-night  —  low  necks 
and  everything!"  Wallace,  who  had  just  arrived, 
waved  his  hat,  but  Christine  looked  dubious. 

"But  I  am  the  only  one  of  you  that  plays  dance 
music,"  she  objected.  "  Much  fun  it  would  be  for  me, 
Ruth  Chantry ! ' '  The  light  vanished  from  Ruth's  face. 

"Oh,  dear,  I  didn't  think  of  that,"  she  sighed. 
179 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Why  can't  I  be  the  musician ?"  Ellen  was  stand 
ing  in  the  doorway  behind  them.  "I  am  a  little  rusty, 
but—  " 

"Bully  for  you,"  exclaimed  Wallace,  and  even  Chris 
tine  was  moved  to  graciousness.  Ruth  looked  away 
with  a  frown,  but  she  made  no  objection. 

Food  enforced  Amsden's  determination  that  Ruth 
should  have  as  good  a  time  as  possible.  After  supper, 
when  she  and  Christine  ran  upstairs  to  dress,  he  pushed 
back  the  furniture  and  rugs,  while  Wallace  strewed  the 
floor  with  candle  shavings.  Ying,  grinning  approval, 
brought  in  a  big  bowl  of  lemonade. 

"Ying  knows  the  size  of  a  thirst,"  Wallace  com 
mented.  "Hello,  here  they  come  —  my  eye!" 

The  girls  paused  above  them,  laughing,  for  their 
approval.  They  had  piled  all  the  finery  they  possessed 
on  their  thin  white  frocks  —  lace,  scarfs,  jewels,  and 
chains,  and  then,  not  satisfied,  had  powdered  their 
hair  and  added  courtplaster  patches.  They  made  a 
radiant  picture  as  they  stood  outlined  against  the  rosy 
panels  of  redwood,  with  their  bare  arms  about  each 
other,  frankly  revelling  in  the  sensation  they  caused. 
Wallace  put  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  with  arms 
outspread. 

"You  ducks!"  he  cried.  "Come  down  and  let 
Uncle  Willie  show  his  appreciation  in  the  only  true 
way."  They  came  down  slowly,  then  darted  past  him 
like  swallows,  one  under  each  arm. 

"Ingrates,"  he  commented.  "Well,  then,  let's 
dance.  Where  is  the  orchestra?"  And  he  went  in 

180 


DR.    ELLEN 

search  of  Ellen,  who  had  retreated  to  her  laboratory 
with  the  bottle  of  Pocock's  Prescription. 

"She  will  think  we  are  perfect  idiots  to  dress  up  like 
this,"  Ruth  said  petulantly  to  Amsden.  "I  do  wish 
we  had  someone  else  to  play  for  us." 

Ellen  did  not  seem  to  think  them  idiots.  "  Oh,  how 
pretty  you  look!"  she  exclaimed,  so  spontaneously 
that  Ruth  was  a  little  ashamed. 

"But  nothing  could  hire  her  to  do  it  herself,"  she 
persisted  as  they  began  to  waltz. 

"Well,  she  does  not  ask  that  you  take  to  her  pur 
suits,  does  she?"  he  demanded  with  a  touch  of  severity. 

"She  makes  me  live  here,"  sighed  Ruth.  Then, 
sensitive  to  his  disapproval,  she  looked  up  anxiously. 
"Don't  think  me  horrid!  I  know  I  am,  but  please 
don't  you  think  so,"  she  begged.  "I  do  want  a  good 
time  to-night  —  ah,  please  think  I'm  nice!" 

He  laughed.  "  I  think  you  are  very  nice.  And  you 
dance  like  a  little  white  puff  of  smoke.  I  don't  believe 
you  move  your  feet  at  all  —  you  are  simply  floating 
here." 

"I  was  so  afraid  I  had  grown  stiff  and  awkward," 
she  said  happily.  "Ellen  plays  well,  doesn't  she? 
No  one  can  be  a  wall-flower  to-night:  it's  really  a 
perfect  party!" 

Ellen  played  tirelessly,  glancing  over  her  shoulder, 
to  smile  at  them  now  and  then,  but  for  the  most  part 
with  eyes  fixed  absently  on  the  keys,  her  real  attention 
very  far  from  them.  Amsden,  conscious  of  her  aloof 
ness,  found  his  end  of  the  gaiety  hard  to  maintain,  but 

181 


DR.    ELLEN 

it  served  to  free  the  others  from  constraint.  The 
dancing  grew  fast  and  furious :  an  absurd  quadrille  was 
organized,  then  a  Virginia  reel.  Ruth  was  fairly 
iridescent  with  joy:  Christine  romped,  but  she  seemed 
to  dart  about  with  the  compact  grace  of  a  humming 
bird.  Amsden,  watching  the  brimming  light  in  her 
face,  realized  with  fresh  kneeness  that  Ruth  must  be 
set  free.  He  knew  now  what  it  would  mean  to  Ellen 
to  let  her  go,  he  felt  with  new  understanding  the  value 
of  Ellen's  work:  and  yet  he  could  not  believe  that 
either  her  deep  affection  or  the  needs  of  her  mission 
gave  her  a  right  to  cut  this  flaming  little  soul  off  from 
everything  it  craved.  Christine  had  said  that  Ellen 
was  not  poor;  but  if  want  of  money  should  prove  an 
obstacle,  then  in  some  way  it  must  be  supplied.  Ruth 
must  have  the  rights  of  her  youth.  He  glanced  across 
at  Ellen's  bent  head  and  rhythmically  moving  hands 
with  quiet  readiness  for  the  struggle,  rejoicing  that  the 
new  friendship  between  them  would  force  her  to  meet 
him  frankly  instead  of  with  cold  evasion.  She  had 
admitted  him  too  far  now  to  shut  the  gate  of  conven 
tion  in  his  face.  And  she  was  a  just  woman:  he  had 
no  doubt  of  the  issue,  once  he  had  made  her  listen. 

Consciousness  of  the  joy  ahead  for  Ruth  warmed 
him  to  benignity.  He  whirled  her  up  to  the  lemonade 
bowl,  and  poured  her  out  a  glass  —  "to  all  the  good 
times  coming!"  They  stood  looking  on  and  laughing 
while  Wallace  and  Christine  organized  and  led  a 
cotillion,  dashing  up  to  imaginary  partners  with  imag 
inary  favours,  taking  them  out  on  the  floor  and  per- 

182 


DR.    ELLEN 

forming  intricate  figures,  then  leading  a  grand  march 
with  so  convincing  an  air  that  the  brilliant  ranks  behind 
them  seemed  almost  visible.  Ellen,  watching  them 
over  her  shoulder  with  amused  eyes,  suddenly  broke 
into  the  unmistakable  opening  chords  of  the  wedding 
march. 

"That  seems  to  be  a  nice  tune,  Willie,"  commented 
Christine  with  massive  innocence.  Will's  face  was  one 
large  fatuous  smile. 

"I  kind  of  like  it,"  he  admitted;  then  both  broke 
down  and  giggled  helplessly.  With  a  final  chord 
Ellen  rose. 

"Christine,  come  and  play  a  waltz,"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  haven't  danced  in  years  —  Will,  are  you  afraid  to 
try  it  with  me?" 

Some  of  the  vivid  youngness  that  Amsden  had  seen 
on  their  ride  up  the  canon  lighted  her  face  as  she 
waltzed  with  increasing  ease.  Intangibly  disturbed 
and  depressed,  he  slipped  out  through  the  open  win 
dow,  glad  of  a  moment's  quiet. 

The  sky  was  dark,  with  only  a  dim  blur  to  show  that 
the  moon  was  up.  As  he  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the 
porch  drawing  deep  breaths  of  the  clean  night,  he 
became  presently  aware  of  a  step  coming  slowly  up 
the  trail.  A  moment  later  he  could  make  out  the 
stooping  form  of  Ned  Spaulding  plodding  wearily  past, 
his  head  sunk  forward,  his  arms  hanging  despondently. 
He  was  evidently  unaware  of  the  lighted  windows  and 
the  music  until  a  laugh  from  Ruth  seemed  to  check 
him  like  a  blow.  As  he  threw  back  his  head  and  stood 

183 


DR.    ELLEN 

to  stare  in,  Ellen  waltzed  past  the  window  in  Will's 
arms,  flushed  and  clear-eyed  and  wholly  happy  in  the 
moment.  The  light,  falling  on  Spaulding's  face, 
showed  a  dark  spasm  of  anger:  his  hand  slowly  lifted 
and  clenched  to  an  accusing  fist.  Amsden  stepped 
quickly  forward,  but  before  he  could  speak  the  other 
turned  away  and  strode  swiftly  on  up  the  trail. 

The  quiet  darkness,  after  he  had  gone,  seemed  to 
cover  unnamed  dangers.  Amsden  lingered  wondering 
uneasily  what  he  ought  to  do,  and  how  far  Gilfillan 
was  capable  of  holding  the  man  in  check  while  he 
worked  through  to  a  sane  acceptance  of  his  sorrow. 
Presently,  Ellen  called  to  him  from  the  window. 

"  There  is  to  be  another  entertainment,  a  very  brief 
one,  in  my  laboratory,"  she  explained,  lighting  a 
candle.  "I  want  to  show  you  all  something.  Will 
you  come?" 

"We  probably  shan't  understand  it  if  it  is  scientific," 
Ruth  objected. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  said  Ellen,  good-humouredly. 
"Put  wraps  on,  both  of  you.  It  won't  take  five  min 
utes." 

Amsden  had  never  seen  her  laboratory,  a  rough  little 
room  built  off  the  kitchen,  with  shelves  full  of  medical 
appliances  and  books.  The  girls  balanced  together 
on  the  only  chair,  and  she  faced  them  with  the  bottle 
of  Pocock's  Prescription,  now  half  empty,  held  up  to 
view. 

"This,"  she  began,  "is  a  great  cure-all  put  on  the 
market  by  my  rival,  Dr.  Pocock.  It  sells  at  the  store 

184 


DR.    ELLEN 

for  a  dollar  a  bottle,  and  sells  well.  They  are  all 
taking  it  —  men  and  women  and  children.  To  a 
certain  extent,  with  the  help  of  the  magazines,  I  have 
broken  them  up  here  of  the  patent  medicine  habit: 
they  know  all  about  the  percentage  of  alcohol  in  their 
old  favourites,  or  it  isn't  my  fault  if  they  don't !  I  have 
worked  harder  over  that  than  over  any  one  thing  since 
I  have  been  here.  I  thought  I  was  succeeding.  But 
this,  you  see,  is  not  a  patent  medicine:  it  is  a  universal 
prescription  from  their  well-known  and  respected  Dr. 
Pocock.  It  is  not  simply  strong  drink  in  disguise,  it's 
a  genuine  cure  for  most  human  ailments.  Well,  now, 
we  shall  see." 

She  poured  some  of  the  Prescription  into  a  bottle, 
and  set  a  Wellsbach  burner  in  its  neck,  then  placed  it 
on  a  bracket  over  a  lamp.  This  she  lighted,  and 
presently  the  liquid  began  to  seethe  and  bubble. 

"If  you  blow  us  up,  Ellen — !"  Ruth  remonstrated. 

"I  won't,"  she  promised.  As  a  vapour  began  to 
ascend  into  the  burner,  she  held  a  lighted  match  over 
its  top.  The  muffled  explosion,  as  it  lighted,  startled 
the  girls  into  small  shrieks.  "It  is  perfectly  safe,"  she 
assured  them.  "Now  you  see  how  it  is  burning,  a 
large,  clear,  generous  flame?  That  is  fed  entirely  by 
alcohol  fumes  from  the  famous  cure-all.  Whiskey, 
beside  it,  is  a  tame  and  harmless  beverage.  This  is 
the  medicine  that  is  being  spread  through  this  com 
munity,  where  drink  is  the  worst  evil  we  have  to  fight. 
Isn't  it  outrageous?" 

"What  can  you  do?"  Amsden  asked. 

185 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  So  far  I  have  not  fought  Pocock,"  she  said  thought 
fully.  "I  have  felt  so  sure  he  would  undo  himself  in 
some  way  that  it  seemed  wiser  —  as  well  as  more  dig 
nified  —  just  to  wait.  Now  I  have  got  to  do  something 
active:  I  won't  stand  his  dragging  these  poor  people 
down.  It  has  come  to  an  open  fight  between  us." 
She  looked  fully  equal  to  it:  she  was  "the  Cause" 
personified  in  the  flickering  light  of  the  burner.  The 
beauty  of  her  strength  and  her  devotion  brought  a 
quick,  swelling  warmth  to  Amsden's  spirit,  big  out  of 
all  proportion  to  the  occasion.  He  had  felt  so  at  sight 
of  a  torn,  stained  battle-flag. 

"  Ellen,  if  you  get  Pocock  down  on  us,  he  will  come 
and  burn  the  barn  up  or  something,"  Ruth  objected. 

''Nothing  I  should  like  better  if  I  caught  him  at  it! 
But  he  won't:  he  will  simply  slander  and  insinuate, 
and  always  keep  himself  just  clear  of  anything  action 
able —  I  know  him!" 

"I'll  go  punch  his  head  if  you  like,"  Wallace  offered 
as  the  girls  rose. 

"Thank  you,  Will.  I  wish  it  were  as  simple  as 
that." 

"Well,  we  enjoyed  this  very  much,"  said  Christine 
civilly. 

"And  you  were  a  brick  to  play  for  us  all  the  evening," 
Wallace  added.  As  they  went  out,  Amsden  turned 
back  to  her. 

"Do  let  me  help  if  you  can,"  he  urged,  holding  out 
his  hand.  She  took  it  gratefully. 

"I  will,"  she  promised. 

186 


XIV 

ELLEN  breakfasted  early  the  next  morning,  saddled 
her  horse  and  went  down  to  the  village.  Her  inten 
tion  was  to  find  Mr.  Gilfillan  and  map  out  her  course 
of  action  under  his  advice;  but  Dr.  Pocock's  sign  and 
a  glimpse  of  his  bristling  pompadour  through  the 
window  appealed  irresistibly  to  her  native  directness 
of  action.  Perhaps  the  knowledge  that  Gilfillan  would 
inevitably  counsel  patience  and  prudence  had  its  in 
fluence  in  deciding  her  to  see  her  rival  first. 

The  doctor  was  alone  in  his  office,  and  sprang  to  his 
feet  with  effusive  cordiality  at  her  appearance.  The 
close  little  room  had  a  professional  air,  a  result  of 
massive  furniture,  medical  works,  and  an  odour  of 
drugs,  and  the  ragged  magazines  on  its  mission  table 
showed  that  many  patients  waited  here.  Ellen  took 
the  proffered  chair,  and  waited  unsmilingly  until  his 
light  flow  of  conversation  dwindled  and  paused.  He 
crossed  his  knees  and  managed  to  swing  his  seat  so 
that  its  back  was  to  the  light. 

"And  now  what  may  I  do  for  my  distinguished 
colleague  ?"  he  asked  with  florid  ease,  leaning  back  to 
clap  his  hands  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"Dr.  Pocock,  I  have  been  working  here  for  three  or 


DR.    ELLEN 

four  years,  and  I  know  this  community  fairly  well," 
she  began  slowly.  "And  so  I  know  what  you  have 
perhaps  not  realized  as  yet  —  that  drink  is  the  worst 
evil  here,  the  hardest  thing  to  fight,  the  strongest  agent 
in  dragging  the  men  down  and  bringing  misery  on  the 
women  and  children.  I  have  worked  against  it  day 
and  night,  and  others  with  me;  and  we  have  made 
enough  headway  to  know  that  the  fight  is  worth  going 
on  with,  whatever  it  costs." 

"Ah,  so  —  certainly,"  he  agreed,  looking  puzzled. 
"Yes,  rum  is  the  curse  of  the  poor  man:  I  heartily 
agree  with  you." 

"It  is  alcohol  that  is  the  curse,"  said  Ellen,  and  she 
caught  a  flicker  of  understanding  in  his  eyes  before  he 
could  avert  them.  "For  that  reason  I  have  steadily 
opposed  the  patent  medicines ;  and  more  or  less  success 
fully,  for  the  women  were  against  them  when  they 
understood.  And  that  is  why  I  have  come  to  you  to 
urge  you  very  earnestly  not  to  spread  among  them  this 
Prescription  of  yours." 

He  met  it  blandly.  "And  what  connection,  my  dear 
young  lady,  do  you  make  between  my  Prescription  — 
a  result  of  nine  years'  patient  study  —  and  these  so- 
called  patent  medicines?" 

"Alcohol,"  was  the  direct  answer.  " I  am  not  speak 
ing  in  ignorance,  Dr.  Pocock.  I  have  tested  it,  and  I 
know  as  well  as  you  do  how  much  of  its  success  it  owes 
to  that.  You  don't  deny  the  alcohol,  of  course?" 

He  smiled.  "You  cannot  expect  me  to  hand  over 
to  my  rival  the  formula  of  my  remedy!  Very  adroit, 

188 


DR.    ELLEN 

my  dear  Doctor;  but  working  in  so  limited  a  field,  we 
surely  are  justified  in  keeping  our  discoveries  to  our 
selves." 

Ellen  rose  with  a  mounting  sense  that  the  room  was 
too  small  to  hold  them  both  much  longer;  but  her  voice 
was  quiet. 

"So  far  I  have  not  tried  to  counteract  your  influence 
here,"  she  said.  "I  have  felt  very  sure  that  it  would 
be  temporary  and  I  preferred  to  wait.  But  I  will  not 
sit  by  and  see  you  wilfully  hurting  these  ignorant 
people  and  undoing  my  work."  He  kept  his  seat, 
looking  up  at  her  with  covert  impertinence. 

" t  When  doctors  disagree — ' "  he  quoted  gently.  "  Of 
course,  I  understand  that  your  practice  has  suffered 
by  my  coming;  but  we  have  to  take  these  things  as  they 
happen.  Believe  me,  you  would  have  to  encounter 
rivalry  in  any  field.  You  must  not  get  discouraged." 
His  intention  of  enraging  her  was  too  obvious  to  be 
effective.  Her  eyes  showed  only  grave  contempt. 

"I  simply  want  you  to  understand,"  she  said,  "that 
hereafter  I  shall  fight  your  influence  and  your  medicine 
in  every  possible  fair  and  open  way.  If  I  can  get  your 
patients  away  from  you,  I  shall  do  it.  There  is  no 
question  of  professional  etiquette  in  dealing  with  a 
man  like  you.  Good  morning." 

"Good  luck!"  he  returned  with  a  laugh  as  the  door 
closed  after  her. 

Ellen's  plan  of  action  had  flashed  into  her  head 
ready  made  before  she  untied  her  horse.  She  had 
always  kept  a  bi-weekly  office  hour  down  in  the  village, 


DR.    ELLEN 

hiring  the  use  of  a  room  on  a  side  street  for  the  purpose 
and  not  even  troubling  to  hang  out  a  sign.  The  need 
for  keeping  it  had  grown  painfully  less  of  late:  the  last 
two  or  three  times  no  one  at  all  had  come.  With  the 
alert  cheerfulness  that  always  showed  in  her  carriage 
when  she  had  a  vast  amount  of  work  before  her,  she 
now  turned  to  the  main  street  and  dismounted  in  front 
of  a  saffron-yellow  house  that  seemed  to  have  got  in 
by  mistake  among  the  stores  and  saloons.  Its  bay- 
window,  jutting  to  the  sidewalk,  displayed  on  a  shabby, 
discouraged  looking  card  the  word,  "Dressmaking.'5 
The  woman  who  answered  her  knock  was  also  shabby 
and  discouraged  looking. 

"I  declare,  it's  a  comfort  to  open  the  door  to 
somebody,  even  if  it  ain't  a  customer,"  she  said, 
sighing. 

"But  it  is,  Miss  Gowdy,"  said  Ellen,  entering. 
"Only  I  don't  want  clothes  this  time:  I  want  your 
parlour  and  dining-room." 

"Well,  for  the  land's  sake!"  said  Miss  Gowdy,  sitting 
down  to  the  topic. 

An  hour  later  the  dressmaking  sign  had  been  trans 
ferred  to  the  pillar  of  the  little  porch,  and  plain  scrim 
curtains  were  being  whirled  through  the  machine  to 
take  the  place  of  the  grimy  and  rotting  lace  draperies 
that  Ellen  herself  had  thrown  down.  A  boy,  sum 
moned  haphazard  through  the  window,  had  taken  up 
the  carpets,  reaping  a  small  fortune  in  pins,  and  a 
smell  of  soap  and  wet  boards  began  to  drive  out  the 
ancient  mustiness.  By  noon  two  clean,  bare  rooms 

190 


DR.    ELLEN 

with  shining  windows  were  in  Ellen's  possession,  and 
the  boy  was  tacking  down  Gallop's  staple  article,  dark 
blue  denim,  for  a  floor  covering.  She  would  have 
preferred  fresh  paint,  yet  was  not  sorry  that  the  boards 
were  too  soft  and  warped,  for  waiting  for  it  to  dry 
would  have  been  a  sore  trial  to  her  active  spirit.  Of 
the  Gowdy  furniture  she  reserved  only  a  table  and  a 
chair  or  two,  having  no  use  for  fringed  patent  rockers 
and  "what-nots  "  bearing  hand-painted  shells.  A  few 
plain  necessities  were  found  in  the  village,  then  she 
borrowed  a  horse  and  wagon  and  drove  home,  leaving 
Adam  temporarily  stabled. 

Ruth  and  her  guests  were  already  at  the  hearty 
luncheon  that  was  their  compromise  for  the  prevalent 
noon  dinner,  and  looked  up  in  amazement  as  Ellen 
came  in,  dusty,  dishevelled  and  radiant. 

"Well,  whose  back  yard  have  you  been  washing 
now?"  Wallace  demanded.  Her  joyous  energy  ran 
over  in  laughter. 

"Don't  get  up,"  she  said.  "I  must  go  and  make 
myself  tidy.  Have  something  kept  hot,  Ruth  —  I  am 
starved." 

When  she  came  back  she  explained  about  her  new 
office.  "I  do  love  a  good,  big,  dirty  piece  of  work," 
she  confessed,  "and  I've  had  it!" 

"You  didn't  do  the  scrubbing!"  Ruth  exclaimed. 

"I  did  —  half  of  it,  anyway.  Miss  Gowdy  finished 
after  she  had  done  the  curtains.  I  am  going  to  see 
what  furniture  I  can  steal  from  the  house:  Pocock's 
mission-table  is  worth  a  dozen  diplomas  to  him." 

191 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Why  didn't  you  let  us  come  and  help?"  Wallace 
asked. 

"You  can  all  help  me  with  the  furniture.  And  I 
want  a  picture  or  two;  the  walls  happen  to  be  very 
fresh  and  decent." 

"There's  that  beast  of  a  'Nydia'  on  my  closet  shelf," 
said  Ruth.  "And  the  grateful-patient  rug  is  about 
somewhere.  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  grateful  patients 
always  have  horrible  taste,"  she  added. 

"Because  the  really  knowing  people  get  so  spoiled 
that  they  aren't  grateful,"  Wallace  explained.  "Look 
at  Amsden  here  —  you  could  bet  your  last  cent  on  his 
taste,  but  save  his  life  and  would  he  be  grateful  ?  Not 
at  all.  He'd  be  civil  about  it,  and  privately  he'd  think 
it  was  no  more  than  you  ought  to  have  done.  While 
you  take  an  ordinary  chap  like  me,  who  doesn't  know 
a  Corot  landscape  from  a  blue  plush  thermometer, 
and  any  little  kindness  turns  him  into  a  mush  of  grati 
tude.  And  he's  more  apt  to  give  you  the  thermometer 
than  the  landscape,  somehow." 

"Well,  I  shall  take  care  never  to  rouse  your  grati 
tude,  Willie,"  said  Christine. 

"I  think  that  is  perfect  nonsense,"  broke  in  Ruth, 
whose  sense  of  humour  could  never  quite  weather  any 
attack  on  Amsden,  no  matter  how  much  he  enjoyed 
it.  "Mr.  Amsden  might  not  spill  over  about  things, 
but  he  would  remember  years  after  you  had  forgotten, 
Will  Wallace." 

"Wow!"  murmured  Will. 

"Well,  who  volunteers  to  help  me?"  interposed 
192 


DR.    ELLEN 

Ellen.  "I  must  be  in  order  by  night,  and  I  begin  to 
realize  that  I  am  tired." 

"I  think  it  would  be  fun,"  said  Christine,  who  had 
been  markedly  cordial  to  Ellen  since  the  little  episode 
of  the  wedding  march  the  night  before.  "It  will  give 
us  a  chance  to  see  this  wonderful  taste  of  Mr.  Ams- 
den's." 

"And  his  gratitude,"  added  Amsden  with  a  smile  at 
his  hostesses. 

They  found  various  pieces  of  furniture  that  could  be 
spared,  and  Ellen  put  in  the  wagon  a  few  properties 
from  her  laboratory,  including  the  Wellsbach  burner 
and  the  lamp. 

"I  think  they  may  be  useful,"  she  said  significantly. 

When  she  arrived  driving  the  load,  the  others  fol 
lowing  on  foot,  great  was  the  excitement  in  the  town 
of  Gallop.  Not  that  it  showed  itself  openly.  The 
friendly  questions  and  offers  of  help  that  would  have 
met  her  a  few  weeks  ago  were  wanting,  and,  with  a 
sudden  drooping  of  her  spirits,  Ellen  wondered  how 
Pocock  had  spent  the  morning.  Actively  and  calumni- 
ously,  no  doubt :  she  could  not  look  for  an  easy  victory. 

Signs  of  his  activity  came  to  her  unexpectedly  soon. 
While  the  others,  with  somewhat  noisy  enthusiasm, 
were  transforming  the  dining-room  into  an  impressive 
waiting-room  for  patients,  she  dropped  down  for  a 
moment's  rest  in  the  front  room,  leaning  her  head 
against  the  wall.  Miss  Gowdy  was  talking  to  a  neigh 
bour  outside,  and  the  nasal  voices  came  to  her  with 
merciless  clearness  through  the  open  window. 

J93 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  Rent's  rent,  of  course,"  the  neighbour  was  saying, 
"but  I  don't  know  as  I  should  want  her  in  my  house. 
Somehow,  a  woman  that  could  go  off  jauntin'  with  a 
young  city  feller,  and  leave  a  little  child  to  choke  to 
death  —  and  those  pore  people  had  waited  thirteen 
years  for  that  child  —  well,  she  ought  to  be  made  to 
feel  it,  I  say." 

"Well,  Miss  Murray,  I  don't  know  much  about  the 
doctorin'  part  of  it,"  said  Miss  Gowdy,  reasonably. 
"I  ain't  needed  a  doctor  for  the  past  twenty  years,  and 
I  don't  lay  out  to  need  one  for  some  time  to  come. 
But  ever  since  that  Madam  McGuire  come  here  with 
her  modes  and  fashions  and  her  coloured  pictures,  and 
took  most  of  my  trade  away  from  me  —  and  it's  no 
use  pretendin'  she  ain't,  for  you'd  know  better  —  I 
tell  you,  I've  had  a  real  feeling  for  Dr.  Ellen.  I  know 
just  what  she's  goin'  through  every  time  she  sees  that 
other  doctor's  sign,  and  the  folks  crowdin'  after  him; 
and  I  declare,  rent  or  no  rent,  I'm  right  glad  of  a 
chance  to  do  her  a  good  turn.  She's  a  real  nice  woman, 
anyhow." 

"Oh,  I  guess  she  means  well,"  Miss  Murray  ad 
mitted.  "She  ain't  so  sympathetic  as  Dr.  Pocock, 
though.  You  tell  him  the  least  little  thing,  and,  my, 
he's  so  concerned  and  interested!  He's  real  kind 
about  Dr.  Ellen,  too.  He  was  speakin'  of  that  Spauld- 
ing  child  this  morning  in  the  post-office  and  when 
someone  blazed  out,  he  says,  'Oh,  well,  you  can't 
expect  a  young  lady  to  be  as  steady  and  reliable  as  us 
old  fogies.'  It  was  pretty  magnanimous,  for  young 

194 


DR.    ELLEN 

Peter  Balch  says  she  don't  speak  any  too  well  of 
him." 

"And  I  ain't  goin'  to  speak  any  too  well  of  Madam 
McGuire,"  said  Miss  Gowdy,  emphatically.  "She 
may  have  more  style  to  her  than  I  got,  but  I  don't  feel 
any  call  to  go  around  mentioning  it.  I'm  with  Dr. 
Ellen,  whether  or  no.  If  you  know  anyone  as  wants 
a  skirt  turned,  Miss  Murray,  I  ain't  above  doin'  it." 

"All  right,  I'll  remember;"  and  Miss  Murray  moved 
on. 

Ellen  had  listened  wearily,  with  closed  eyes.  She 
did  not  open  them  until  she  heard  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Gilfillan  at  the  door. 

"I  am  in  here,"  she  called  to  him,  and  rose  with 
fresh  courage.  "So  you  have  heard  already,"  she  said, 
holding  out  her  hand.  "I  meant  to  get  your  advice 
first,  but  I  was  swept  away  by  my  own  energy.  It  is 
war  now  between  Pocock  and  me  —  I  went  to  him 
and  declared  it!" 

"You've  got  a  right  handsome  office,"  he  conceded. 
"I  don't  know  but  what  it's  time  to  sort  of  assert  your 
self,  M'z  Roderick.  I  reckon  you're  right.  Did  you 
see  anything  of  Ned  Spaulding  last  night?"  he  added 
after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"Last  night?  Why,  no."  Her  tone  was  a  question, 
but  Mr.  Gilfillan  left  it  unanswered,  seemingly  lost  in 
thought. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  kind  of  losing  my  influence  with  that 
poor  soul,"  he  said  finally.  "He  has  turned  against 
me,  somehow.  I  wouldn't  say  Dr.  Pocock  had  done 


DR.    ELLEN 

it,  but  they're  pretty  thick.  And  last  night  when  I 
started  to  fall  in  with  him,  like  I  often  do  —  well,  the 
poor  fellow  turned  on  me.  I  had  to  let  him  go  alone. 
He's  mighty  unsettled,  M'z  Roderick!" 

"Oh,  I  am  not  afraid,  personally,"  she  said,  answer 
ing  his  unspoken  thought.  "He  hurts  me  profession 
ally,  of  course.  Mr.  Gilfillan,"  she  added  suddenly, 
"why  don't  you  begin  practising  your  profession? 
You  are  a  doctor  now  by  right  —  why  not  put  out  your 
sign?  I  don't  undervalue  the  work  you  are  doing; 
you  give  yourself  day  and  night.  But  why  not  take 
your  title  and  place  as  a  doctor,  too?" 

"Oh,  there's  no  hurry,  no  hurry!  I  reckon  there's 
doctors  enough  here  for  the  present."  He  would  have 
turned  away  from  the  topic,  but  she  brought  him  back. 

"Look  here,"  she  commanded.  "My  sign  will  be 
ready  to-morrow  morning:  'Dr.  Ellen  Roderick, 
Office  Hours,  10  to  12.'  You  go  over  to  Jensen  this 
moment  and  tell  him  to  do  another  sign  just  like  it,  for 
the  other  side  of  the  window:  'Dr.  Gilfillan,  Office 
Hours — '  whenever  you  please.  You  are  always  my 
partner  in  fact  —  I  never  go  through  a  hard  case  with 
out  you:  why  not  formally  as  well?  We  shall  be  two 
against  one,  then."  Her  eyes  were  shining.  "Oh,  I 
think  it  will  be  splendid!"  He  was  touched,  sorely 
tempted,  yet  he  hesitated. 

"I  didn't  allow  I'd  practice  much  so  long  as  you 
were  here  and  equal  to  everything,"  he  confessed  at 
last.  "Somehow,  when  it  comes  to  cutting  into  your 
practice,  M'z  Roderick — " 

196 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  But  you  will  be  helping  it,  bringing  it  back  to  me," 
she  interrupted.  "They  all  love  you;  they  will  get  in 
the  way  of  coming  here,  and  so  I  shall  profit.  Why, 
you  will  be  doing  me  the  biggest  possible  service. 
Hurry,  now,  or  Jensen  will  say  he  can't  have  the  sign 
done  in  time  for  to-morrow  morning." 

His  face  cleared  and  lighted  under  her  enthusiasm. 
When  she  had  silenced  his  last  scruple,  he  hurried  off, 
and  she  watched  him  from  the  window  with  eyes 
warmed  by  new  hope  and  a  deep  appreciation  of  his 
devotion.  She  had  not  realized  how  great  his  desire 
to  take  his  place  as  a  doctor  had  been  until  she  en 
countered  his  firm  determination  not  to  so  long  as  the 
field  was  hers. 

"Dear  soul  —  dear,  big,  selfless  soul!"  she  mur 
mured. 

The  two  signs  were  in  the  window  at  seven  the  next 
morning.  By  eight  nearly  every  able-bodied  citizen 
in  Gallop  had  seen  them,  and  the  news  was  well  on  its 
way  to  the  outlying  regions.  When  Ellen  arrived,  at 
ten,  half  a  dozen  loyal  supporters  were  waiting  to  con 
gratulate  and  wish  her  success:  one  had  even  mustered 
a  lame  side  for  the  occasion.  Ellen  concluded  the 
exhibition  of  her  rooms  with  an  informal  lecture,  illus 
trated,  on  the  Prescription,  and  all  unconsciously  they 
went  out  her  emissaries  as  well  as  her  supporters. 
When  she  had  disposed  of  the  lame  side,  she  found 
Rory,  wearing  her  bandages  as  conspicuously  as  pos 
sible,  in  the  waiting-room. 

"I  thought  you'd  better  attend  to  my  arm  down 
197 


DR.    ELLEN 

here,  Dr.  Ellen,"  she  announced  humorously.  "It 
will  need  attention  as  many  days  a  week  as  you  think 
best." 

"Did  you  walk?"  Ellen  asked,  glad  to  see  a  glimmer 
of  fun  in  the  shrewd  little  face.  Rory  had  seemed  to 
her  more  depressed  than  was  justified  since  her  acci 
dent. 

"Did  I  walk!  And  have  nothing  to  tie  outside  while 
I  was  in  being  treated?  I'm  a  better  friend  to  you 
than  that.  I  borrowed  the  most  conspicuous  piece  of 
calico  in  the  region." 

"But  you  mustn't  ride  yet,  child!" 

"Oh,  you  couldn't  call  it  riding:  he's  warranted 
never  to  go  out  of  a  walk.  There's  no  one  else  in 
Gallop  for  whom  I'd  mount  such  a  beast,"  she  added 
disgustedly.  "Take  a  look  at  him  if  you  doubt  his 
powers  of  drawing  attention." 

Ellen  glanced  out  at  a  stout  old  piebald,  glaringly 
red  and  white,  and  laughed  her  appreciation. 

"You  are  a  good  friend,  Rory,"  she  said.  "Now, 
let  me  see  your  arm." 

"Oh,  it's  all  right.  You  just  looked  at  it  two  days 
ago."  Rory  moved  restlessly  about  the  room,  talking 
disjointedly,  and  Ellen  gradually  realized  that  she  was 
trying  to  say  something:  a  glance  at  her  face  showed 
it  absent  and  troubled. 

"Sit  down  here,  Rory,"  she  commanded,  and  when 
the  girl  had  reluctantly  obeyed,  she  laid  a  hand  on  her 
shoulder.  "What  is  troubling  you?" 

"Pocock,"  said  Rory,  instantly,  with  face  averted. 
198 


DR.    ELLEN 

"In  what  way?" 

"I  met  him  this  morning  when  I  went  to  borrow  the 
piebald.  I've  no  love  for  him,  as  you  know,  but  I  had 
to  wait  while  they  caught  the  beast,  and  I  couldn't 
stop  him  from  pulling  up  beside  me." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  after  some  palaver  he  got  round  to  —  our 
first  night  in  camp  up  by  Juniper  Creek."  She  drew 
a  hurried  breath,  and  would  have  started  to  her  feet, 
but  Ellen  pressed  her  back. 

"Go  on:  tell  me  exactly  what  he  said." 

Rory  bent  her  face  down  over  her  bandaged  arm. 
"He  didn't  say  much:  I  guess  he  was  trying  to  get 
something  out  of  me.  He  began  about  the  strange 
doings  up  to  our  camp  that  night ; '  you  must  have  been 
a  good  deal  startled,'  he  says.  'I  don't  know  what 
you're  talking  about,'  says  I.  'You  didn't  notice  any 
thing  unusual  in  the  night?'  he  says.  'I've  only  just 
been  informed  of  it,'  he  says, '  and  I  deplore  exceedingly 
that  it  should  have  happened '  —  fat  old  hypocrite ! 
'Dr.  Ellen  is  of  course  young  and  thoughtless,'  he 
says,  'but  I'm  sure  she  never  meant  — '  Well,  there  I 
blazed  out  at  him  and  I  told  him  to  shut  his  head,  and 
that  nothing  had  happened,  and  then  my  horse  came, 
and  I  left.  And  Dr.  Ellen,  dear,"  she  thrust  a  cold, 
shaking  hand  into  Ellen's,  "I  don't  know  what  he  was 
talking  about,  and  I  don't  never  want  to  know,  only 
he's  a  dangerous  man,  and  you  must  look  out  for  him. 
So  I  had  to  tell  you."  And,  to  Ellen's  amazement,  she 
plunged  her  face  into  her  well  arm  with  a  gasp. 

199 


DR.    ELLEN 

Ellen  waited  a  few  moments,  knowing  that  Rory 
would  hate  any  sympathy  that  made  it  harder  for  her 
to  get  back  her  self-control. 

"I  think  you  had  better  know  just  what  happened, 
Rory,"  she  said  presently.  "Some  roughs  made  a 
dummy  of  a  dead  child  in  a  coffin,  and  left  it  by  the 
fire  that  night,  to  remind  me  that  I  had  —  lost  Spaul- 
ding's  little  girl.  Mr.  Amsden  and  I  saw  them,  so  we 
carried  it  a  long  way  off  and  buried  it  while  you  were 
all  asleep.  It  was  a  cruel,  barbarous  thing  to  do;  but 
I  don't  believe  Pocock  can  make  any  special  use  of  it." 

Rory  lifted  a  face  transfigured  and  shining.  "Was 
that  all?"  she  cried.  "Oh,  Dr.  Ellen,  dear,  was  that 
all  he  was  driving  at?" 

"Of  course.     Nothing  else  happened." 

"Oh,  my  glory!"  She  had  to  dry  her  eyes  again. 
"I  ask  pardon  for  being  such  an  old  fool  —  'tisn't  like 
me.  Do  Ruth  and  Christine  know  this?"  she  added 
suddenly. 

"About  the  dummy?    No,  I  hope  not." 

"Tell  them,  doctor!"  Rory  had  become  very 
earnest.  "  Tell  them  right  away  —  you  never  can  know 
what  things  people  will  be  hearing.  Pocock  didn't  get 
nothing  out  of  me,  but  Christine  has  an  evil  tongue 
when  you  give  her  a  chance;  "  her  face  darkened  vin 
dictively.  "Let  'em  know  what  he'll  be  driving  at  if 
he  questions  them  —  for  he's  got  the  nerve  to.  Promise 
me  you'll  tell  them  this  very  day." 

"Rory,  you  are  nervous:  that  arm  is  keeping  you 
too  quiet." 

200 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Just  so;  but  I'm  the  happiest  soul  in  Gallop."  She 
certainly  looked  it.  Colour  was  burning  in  her  cheeks, 
and  though  she  was  smiling  ironically  at  herself,  her 
eyes  had  a  warmth  of  feeling  that  Ellen  had  never 
seen  in  them  before.  "Oh,  I'm  a  bad  lot,"  she  burst 
out.  "I've  been  round  in  the  mud  all  my  days,  and  it 
sticks.  I'd  go  to  the  stake  for  a  friend  I  believed  in, 
no  matter  what  he  was  accused  of;  but  all  the  time, 
down  at  the  bottom  of  my  good  faith  in  him,  I'd  be 
saying,  'Well,  probably  he's  just  like  all  the  rest,  and 
no  doubt  he  done  it.'  It's  a  dirty  mind  that's  my 
worst  trouble.  Get  a  medicine  to  cure  that,  now,  and 
you  won't  need  the  piebald  out  in  front  for  long!" 

"I  am  going  to  give  you  some  medicine,  and  over 
haul  you  generally  this  very  minute,"  said  Ellen,  em 
phatically.  "You  are  getting  as  hysterical  as  any 
other  shut-up  woman,  Rory  Dorn.  I'm  disgusted 
with  you.  Put  this  thermomenter  under  your  tongue, 
and  don't  say  another  word."  Rory  accepted  it  with 
an  unresentful  chuckle.  Her  eyes  were  shining,  but 
it  was  evidently  not  with  fever.  She  met  Ellen's 
questions  with  a  dry  humour  impossible  to  resist,  but 
when  she  was  finally  dismissed  she  became  grave  again. 

"You'll  remember  to  tell  Christine?"  she  urged, 
looking  back  from  the  door. 

"Yes,  I'll  remember,"  Ellen  assented  absently. 

A  few  moments  later  the  first  deserter  from  the 
enemy  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  young  woman  newly 
come  to  Gallop.  She  carried  a  heavy  child  in  her 
arms.  Dr.  Pocock  might  be  a  wonder,  she  said,  but 

201 


DR.    ELLEN 

she  didn't  think  he  knew  much  about  babies:  Mont- 
rose  had  colic  all  the  time.  That  she  herself  knew 
pitifully  little  about  babies  was  evident  after  Ellen 
had  mastered  the  appalling  details  of  Montrose's  diet. 
She  was  not  unintelligent,  and  Ellen,  sitting  beside  her 
on  the  sofa,  gave  her  a  simple  talk  on  infant  hygiene 
that  roused  a  real  enthusiasm  of  interest.  She  wished 
her  married  cousin  could  have  heard  it. 

"  Go  and  get  her,"  suggested  Ellen. 

Less  than  half  an  hour  later  two  baby  carriages  were 
blocking  the  front  steps,  and  Ellen  was  again  holding 
forth  on  the  diet  and  care  of  children. 

"  And  here  is  something  you  can  do,"  she  concluded. 
"A  baby  has  many  enemies  to  fight  —  teeth  and  cold 
and  disease  and  neglect;  but  its  worst  enemy  is  the 
mother  who  feeds  it  with  bananas  and  sausages  at 
eighteen  months,  and  gives  it  sips  of  beer  to  see  the 
funny  face  it  makes,  and  puts  a  cooky  into  its  hand 
whenever  it  is  restless.  Haven't  most  of  the  babies 
you  know  got  crumbs  on  their  cheeks  all  day  long? 
Now,  I  have  told  you  generally  how  a  child's  diet 
should  be  regulated,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me  spread 
this  knowledge.  Just  explain  it  to  your  friends  as  you 
would  a  new  dress  pattern,  whenever  the  chance  comes 
up.  Help  me  to  make  the  mothers  realize  how  im 
portant  this  is  —  and  you  may  bring  your  families  to 
me  whenever  they  need  a  doctor.  I  shall  consider 
myself  in  your  debt." 

They  went  away  full  of  zeal,  and  evidently  began 
their  mission  work  at  once,  for  the  next  morning  an 

202 


DR.    ELLEN 

irate  follower  of  Pocock  was  waiting  to  ask  belligerently 
if  Ellen  had  said  that  no  child  could  grow  up  who  ate 
cookies.  She  had  brought  up  five  boys  on  them,  and 
she  guessed  she  knew.  Ellen  met  her  with  mildness 
and  hygiene,  and  ten  minutes  later  parted  from  her 
with  a  friendly  handshake.  The  outcome  of  this,  and 
of  two  other  calls  from  young  mothers  that  followed, 
was  a  notice  pinned  up  in  the  post-office  to  the  effect 
that  there  would  be  a  lecture  on  the  care  of  babies  at 
her  office  the  next  day  at  eleven  o'clock,  to  which  every 
one  was  welcome  to  come.  She  knew  that  it  was  soon 
for  so  bold  a  move,  but  patient  waiting  was  not  natural 
to  her,  and  the  past  weeks  had  been  an  exasperating 
experience. 

She  arranged  the  chairs  the  next  day  in  amused 
trepidation,  not  knowing  whether  anyone  would 
respond ;  but  it  was  a  drawing  subject,  and  ten  women, 
some  of  them  sitting  skeptically  on  the  edges  of  their 
seats,  faced  her  when  the  hour  came.  After  she  had 
given  her  talk  on  food  and  care,  seeing  that  she  still 
held  them,  she  slipped  quietly  into  the  subject  of 
children's  diseases.  They  did  not  see  where  she  was , 
tending  until  she  mentioned  diphtheria:  then  there 
was  a  subdued  movement,  a  hostile  lifting  of  heads 
and  exchange  of  meaning  or  startled  glances.  With 
quiet  earnestness  she  told  them  about  the  discovery  of 
the  serum  and  the  wonders  that  the  new  treatment  had 
accomplished;  and  she  explained  the  sudden  dangers 
of  the  disease,  against  which  human  skill  could  not 
guard.  Though  no  specific  case  was  mentioned,  it 

203 


DR.    ELLEN 

was  her  first  word  in  her  own  defence,  and  they  could 
not  but  be  moved  at  her  sincerity,  and  the  evident 
feeling  under  her  words.  Two  or  three  went  away 
afterwards  with  mouths  set  to  express  that  that  was  all 
very  fine,  but  they  weren't  so  sure:  the  majority,  how 
ever,  lingered  to  ask  questions  and  to  shake  hands  with 
her.  She  galloped  home  at  lunch  time  in  splendid 
satisfaction,  a  Viking  figurehead  on  the  eve  of  victory. 
She  had  wholly  forgotten  her  promise  to  Rory  that  she 
would  "tell  Christine." 


204 


XV 

THE  tale  of  Ellen's  lecture  and  her  incidental  self- 
defence  went  through  the  town  like  wind  out  of  a 
cloud.  That  same  afternoon  a  committee  of  three 
citizens,  sober,  grizzled  men,  who  had  held  back  from 
taking  sides  in  the  town's  quarrel  over  its  doctors, 
called  to  ask  her  to  repeat  it  in  the  town  hall  the  fol 
lowing  evening. 

"You  can  leave  out  the  baby  food  part,"  they  sug 
gested,  smiling  under  their  beards.  "We  believe  in 
fair  play,  that's  all.  If  you  got  something  to  say,  let's 
hear  it." 

Ellen  consented,  and  the  self-appointed  committee 
put  up  the  notice  in  the  post-office  over  their  own 
impressive  signatures.  Dr.  Pocock  was  called  that 
afternoon  to  the  sawmill  where  Spaulding  had  just 
gone  back  to  work,  and  the  news  went  with  him,  told 
temperately,  considerately,  as  one  of  the  further  wrongs 
a  much-wronged  man  must  expect  so  long  as  irrespon 
sible  people  held  responsible  positions.  No  doubt,  Dr. 
Ellen  would  easily  induce  people  to  trust  her  again 
with  their  lives  and  their  children's.  Spaulding  had 
better  drop  in  at  the  lecture:  he  might  be  convinced 
himself.  Spaulding  muttered  that  he  would  see  the 

205 


DR.    ELLEN 

woman  thoroughly  condemned  before  he  would  go  and 
listen  to  her  lies,  and  the  doctor  held  his  hand  in  a 
sympathetic  grasp. 

"You're  a  strong  man,  Ned,  strong  for  the  right," 
he  said.  His  expression  was  one  of  peace  and  pros 
perity  so  long  as  he  was  in  the  public  view,  but  it  dulled 
to  sour  anxiety  when  he  had  turned  his  horse  into  the 
lonely  road  that  climbed  to  the  log  cabin  of  the  Flan- 
nerys.  An  hour  later,  as  he  wound  slowly  down 
again,  he  came  upon  a  dismayed  group.  Christine 
sat  on  the  bank  by  the  road  holding  her  foot  in  both 
hands,  her  face  expressing  extreme  anguish,  while 
Ruth  patted  her  shoulder,  and  Wallace,  a  picture  of 
wretchedness  and  guilt,  made  confused  sounds  of 
contrition  and  apology.  Amsden  was  looking  on  with 
an  obvious  effort  not  to  appear  as  skeptical  as  he 
felt. 

"Well,  if  you  will  go  jumping  up  and  down  every 
bank,  Will,  of  course  you  are  going  to  dislodge  stones, 
and  they  are  bound  to  hurt  somebody,"  Christine  was 
complaining.  "I  don't  think  you  have  broken  any 
bones,  but  when  a  great  stone  comes  with  all  its  weight 
on  your  foot,  it  is  apt  to  do  some  damage.  Of  course 
you  didn't  meant  to  —  I  never  supposed  you  did.  But 
you  ought  to  be  more  careful." 

"Say,  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  Wallace  pleaded.  "I 
was  a  brute  beast.  I'll  go  and  get  a  horse  to  take  you 
home  —  I'll  carry  you  myself  if  you  say  so." 

Dr.  Pocock  pulled  up  beside  them. 

"An  accident?"  he  queried.  "I  am  so  very  sorry. 
206 


DR.    ELLEN 

Do  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  driving  Miss  O'Hara 
home." 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  need  of  troubling  you,"  said  Ruth, 
hastily.  Little  as  she  sympathized  with  Ellen's  work, 
she  had  enough  family  loyalty  to  shrink  from  obliga 
tions  to  the  rival.  But  Christine,  to  whom  any  male 
being  was  a  man,  revived  at  the  suggestion,  and  ac 
cepted  with  a  gratitude  designed  to  make  Wallace  still 
more  unhappy.  In  spite  of  Ruth's  worried  reluctance, 
she  had  herself  helped  into  the  cart  by  Amsden,  wincing 
and  breathing  heavily  with  pain. 

"Tell  the  little  thin  Flannery  how  sorry  I  was  not 
to  bring  her  the  dress  myself,"  she  said  as  she  was 
driven  away. 

"  Confound  the  little  Flannerys  and  all  their  works," 
muttered  Will,  with  a  kick  at  the  bundle  that  held  the 
finished  frocks. 

Christine's  foot  grew  better  at  once,  though  her 
cheerful  face  became  decorously  expressive  of  con 
trolled  suffering  when  Dr.  Pocock  interrupted  his 
opening  commentary  on  the  weather  to  say: 

"But  I  fear  you  are  suffering  intensely.  Don't  be 
too  stoical  —  I  sometimes  think  you  women  are  really 
too  brave  in  suffering.  The  nervous  system  needs  the 
relief  of  letting  go  a  little.  If  you  would  make  one 
tenth  the  fuss  that  the  average  man  does  under 
pain  your  delicate  organizations  would  feel  less 
strain." 

"  But  one  hates  so  to  give  in  to  it,"  said  Christine, 
earnestly.  "I  am  just  like  a  sick  animal  when  I  am 

207 


DR.    ELLEN 

ill:  I  want  to  crawl  into  a  hole  and  not  let  anyone  see 
me." 

"I  know,  I  know!  I  tell  you,  you  are  all  stoics. 
One  can't  help  reverencing  you  for  it."  The  cart 
jolted  over  a  stone,  and  he  pulled  up  with  a  sharp 
"Ah!"  of  dismay.  "How  brutally  careless  of  me," 
he  exclaimed.  "That  must  have  given  you  a  twinge 
of  anguish;  but  of  course  you  won't  admit  it." 

"It  was  nothing,"  said  Christine,  faintly,  but  he 
insisted  on  stopping  the  horse  and  pouring  her  out 
a  spoonful  of  whiskey  in  the  cup  of  his  flask. 

"Ah,  now  we  begin  to  look  more  like  a  normal 
being,"  he  congratulated  her,  and  she  felt  free  to  re 
vive. 

"I  don't  wonder  all  Gallop  swears  by  you,"  she  said 
as  they  drew  near  the  town,  and  his  hat  flew  off  in 
answer  to  friendly  greetings. 

"They  are  dear  souls,  very  appreciative  of  a  faithful 
effort  to  help  them,"  he  said,  carefully  driving  round 
a  bump  in  the  road.  "You  know,  of  course,  that  my 
professional  skill  would  be  entirely  at  your  service  if 
you  had  not  a  doctor  in  your  family.  Do  beg  her  to 
attend  to  your  foot  at  once  —  not  to  let  it  go  neglected 
on  any  account." 

"I  have  never  happened  to  consult  a  woman  doctor," 
said  Christine,  looking  dubious  at  the  prospect.  "  One 
has  more  faith  in  a  man,  someway." 

"That  is  very  natural.  But  there  are  things  for 
which  a  woman  is  quite  as  competent  —  yes,  really. 
Of  course,  too  young  a  woman  is  not  equal  to  a  very 

208 


DR.    ELLEN 

grave  responsibility:  she  is  emotional,  she  wants  the 
pleasures  of  youth." 

"Yes,  I  think  that  is  true;"  and  Christine's  lips 
compressed  significantly. 

"She  wants  her  pleasure  excursions.  I  fear  your 
last  one  up  Juniper  Creek  must  have  been  very  seriously 
marred,"  he  went  on,  lowering  his  voice  to  confidential 
sympathy.  "I  have  heard  what  occurred  there,  that 
night,  and  I  felt  for  you  very  much.  It  must  have 
been  a  horrible  shock." 

Christine  had  turned  wide,  startled  eyes  on  him. 
"How  did  you  know?"  she  demanded. 

"Such  things  always  get  about,  don't  they?" 

"I  haven't  told  anyone,  not  a  soul,"  she  protested 
excitedly.  "I  haven't  known  what  I  ought  to  do  — 
I  can't  tell  you  how  distressed  and  worried  I  have 
been,  Dr.  Pocock." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  he  murmured,  looking 
puzzled. 

"I  had  been  persuading  myself  that  it  wasn't  true, 
that  there  was  some  explanation,"  she  plunged  on. 
"But  if  you  have  heard  it,  too  —  I  suppose  I  ought  not 
to  go  on  staying  in  her  house.  But  it's  too  dreadful!" 
Dr.  Pocock  was  listening  with  the  intense  stillness  of 
a  cat  at  a  hole. 

"No  one  could  possibly  —  implicate  you,"  he  ven 
tured  softly. 

"I  know;  but  one  can't  afford  to  be  mixed  up  with 
—  such  things.  Though  it  seems  dreadful  to  desert 
poor  Ruth.  She  doesn't  suspect  a  thing:  she  thinks 

209 


DR.    ELLEN 

Mr.  Amsden  is  as  perfect  as  Dr.  Ellen."  The  mouse 
had  evidently  come  out:  the  quick  gleam  in  Dr.  Po- 
cock's  eyes  was  like  a  silent  pounce. 

"Perhaps  we  can  do  something  to  meet  this  rumour 
and  stop  it,"  he  suggested  after  a  pause.  "No  doubt 
what  I  have  heard  is  exaggerated.  How  much  did 
you  see?" 

"Why,  I  only  saw  them  come  out  of  the  woods:  it 
was  just  dawn.  I  had  been  awake  hours  and  hours, 
and  —  well,  I  hadn't  heard  them  go." 

"It  was  dawn?    You  are  sure  of  that?" 

"Certain.    I  didn't  go  to  sleep  again." 

"Naturally;"  in  his  averted  eyes  shone  a  hard  gleam 
of  triumph.  "I  can't  tell  you  how  I  regret  it,  Miss 
O'Hara.  You  see,  I  owe  a  duty  to  the  community; 
and  yet,  a  woman's  good  name!" 

"Please  don't  quote  me  in  any  way,"  said  Christine, 
hastily.  "I  am  sure  I  don't  know  anything." 

"No,  indeed.  You  must  be  kept  well  out  of  it," 
was  the  reassuring  answer.  "But  you  will  let  me  see 
you  again  some  day,  won't  you?  I  may  come  to  you 
for  advice?" 

"Well,  I  dare  say  I  shall  stay  a  few  days  longer," 
Christine  conceded. 

"Oh,  Doctor!  Doctor!  Just  a  minute!"  Miss 
Finch  was  calling  from  her  cottage  door.  She  ran 
down  to  the  gate  as  he  drew  up.  "Couldn't  you  come 
in  and  look  at  Benjy?  I've  been  trying  to  get  you  all 
day.  He's  been  poorly  all  the  week,  and  now  all  at 


210 


DR.    ELLEN 

"I  am  sorry.  As  soon  as  I  take  this  young  lady 
home,  Miss  Finch  — " 

"Let  me  wait  here  while  you  go  in,"  interrupted 
Christine.  "I  will  hold  the  horse." 

"If  you  are  sure  it  won't  be  too  hard  on  you  — " 

Christine  was  sure,  and  settled  back  comfortably 
as  he  followed  Miss  Finch.  She  was  having  a  very 
nice  time,  and  did  not  care  to  see  it  curtailed  by  pro 
fessional  hurry.  It  was  annoying  that  Ellen  should 
suddenly  appear  on  horseback:  she  would  find  a  reason 
for  disapproving.  Christine  nodded  in  a  manner  in 
dicating  that  she  knew  her  own  business,  but  Ellen 
drew  up  with  a  frown  for  explanations.  The  tale  of 
acute  suffering  and  Dr.  Pocock's  kind  assistance  did 
not  abate  her  displeased  gravity.  She  insisted  that 
Christine  should  ride  her  horse  home. 

"I  have  urgent  reasons  for  not  wishing  anyone  in 
my  house  to  be  under  obligations  to  Dr.  Pocock,  as  I 
should  think  you  would  know,"  she  said  with  a  touch 
of  sternness. 

"When  one  is  suffering,  one  can't  bother  about  pro 
fessional  rivalries,"  said  Christine.  "Besides,  I  can't 
take  your  horse;  I  haven't  my  riding  skirt  on." 

"We  can  change  in  my  office;"  Ellen  forced  her 
voice  to  friendliness.  "I  can  look  at  your  foot  there, 
too.  Here  comes  a  wagon:  they  will  give  you  a  lift." 
She  fastened  the  doctor's  horse,  and  Christine  sulkily 
dismounted,  declining  her  assistance,  but  wincing 
pitifully  with  pain.  She  would  have  given  much  to 
decline  Ellen's  services  altogether,  but  there  seemed 

211 


DR.    ELLEN 

to  be  no  way  out  of  them:  Ellen  had  a  terrible  direct 
ness  of  action  that  swept  other  people  along,  protest 
as  they  might. 

When  the  mild  bruise  on  her  instep  had  been  attended 
to,  Christine  found  herself  riding  home  alone  without 
even  a  chance  to  thank  Dr.  Pocock,  whose  cart  was 
still  standing  in  front  of  the  Finch  cottage.  Her 
seeming  ingratitude  troubled  her  so  much  that  pres 
ently  she  stopped  the  horse  and  investigated  Ellen's 
buttoned  pocket  in  the  hope  of  finding  materials  for 
a  note.  There  was  a  note -book  with  a  pencil  attached, 
and,  tearing  out  a  blank  leaf,  she  wrote: 

"So  sorry  to  desert  you  in  this  fashion,  but  your 
rival  insists  on  packing  me  home  on  her  horse.  I  am 
very  grateful  just  the  same.  I  hope  we  can  have 
another  visit  before  I  go.  "C.  O'H." 

She  folded  this,  scrawled  his  name  on  the  outside  and 
galloped  back,  a  wary  eye  out  for  Ellen  and  an  excuse 
ready.  Luck  seemed  to  be  with  her,  and  she  pinned 
the  note  to  the  cloth  back  of  the  cart  seat,  then  hurried 
off  unseen.  That  Ellen  might  pass  before  the  doctor 
came  out  did  not  occur  to  her;  but  that  was  what 
happened  not  five  minutes  later,  and  it  was  an  Ellen 
still  simmering  with  indignation.  The  note  addressed 
in  Christine's  unmistakable  sprawl  might  have  been 
flung  in  her  face,  for  the  instantaneous  effect  it  pro 
duced.  Prudence,  dignity,  the  rights  of  correspondence 
were  drowned  in  the  sudden  boiling  over  of  her  wrath. 

212 


DR.    ELLEN 

Taking  the  missive  from  the  cart,  she  tore  it  into  little 
pieces. 

"I'll  tell  her  what  I  have  done,  and,  please  God,  it 
will  make  her  so  angry  that  she  goes  home,"  she  mut 
tered  as  she  threw  the  bits  into  the  air.  It  was  not  till 
then  that  she  saw  Dr.  Pocock  coming  down  the  path. 

A  chill  reaction  brought  her  very  close  to  dismay  as 
it  showed  her  how  hopelessly  she  had  put  herself  in  the 
wrong.  She  stood  her  ground,  her  hands  thrust  into 
her  belt  and  her  head  thrown  back,  waiting  for  him 
to  do  his  worst,  but  it  was  a  moment  before  she  could 
lift  her  eyes  to  meet  the  insolent  smile  so  hatefully 
familiar  to  her. 

Pocock,  for  once,  was  not  smiling :  his  face  was  pale, 
and  he  stared  at  her  blankly  without  a  sign  of  having 
seen  her.  It  seemed  to  Ellen  that  his  eyes  had  a  look 
of  fear,  of  cowardly,  selfish  fear,  and  she  forgot  her 
own  position  in  her  wonder.  He  untied  his,  horse  with 
a  nervous  jerk,  and  drove  hurriedly  away  without  a 
word.  She  glanced  curiously  towards  the  cottage,  but 
Miss  Finch,  appearing  at  that  moment  to  shake  a 
rug  out  of  the  window,  presented  an  unconcerned  face 
that  denied  anything  unusual  within.  She  must  have 
misread  the  signs;  and  yet  the  man's  expression  haunted 
her  as  she  walked  on.  Had  he  really  not  seen  her? 
Or  was  it  a  ruse  to  make  some  better  use  of  what  she 
had  done  than  a  mere  row  with  her? 

"Well,  I  did  it,"  she  admitted  with  a  sigh.  "For 
once  he  will  be  in  the  right.  I  can't  even  explain  it 
without  calling  my  guest  —  the  fool  she  is!  He  will 

213 


DR.    ELLEN 

probably  hire  a  boy  to  stay  with  the  cart  now  and  tell 
everyone  —  regretfully  —  why  he  is  forced  to  do  so." 
Tired  and  irritated  as  she  was,  she  laughed  at  the  idea 
of  herself  as  a  menace  to  private  property.  "Well,  I 
did  do  it,"  she  repeated  as  she  mounted  the  steps  of 
the  cabin.  "Now  for  Christine." 

The  chilliest  possible  "Come  in,"  answered  her 
knock  on  Christine's  door.  A  white  silk  kimono  over 
a  lace  petticoat,  a  bottle  of  aromatic  salts,  and  a  novel, 
gave  the  proper  air  of  distinguished  invalidism,  and 
the  burnished  curls  shone  delightfully  against  the  white 
pillow.  Though  she  was  lying  on  her  bed,  Christine 
managed  to  give  the  impression  that  she  was  looking 
down  on  Ellen  from  a  height  that  really  called  for  the 
help  of  a  lorgnon. 

"Christine,  you  don't  understand  the  situation  here 
—  you  can't  be  expected  to,"  Ellen  began  with  not 
unfriendly  seriousness.  "Dr.  Pocock  is  an  unscrupu 
lous  man  who  has  been  working  for  weeks  to  hurt  me, 
professionally,  personally,  every  way.  It  is  too  long  a 
tale  to  go  into:  you  must  just  take  my  word  for  it  that 
there  can  be  no  intercourse  between  him  and  my 
household.  This  is  so  important  that  I  took  the  liberty 
of  destroying  your  note  to  him  —  I  happened  to  pass 
his  cart  before  he  came  out." 

Christine  raised  herself  on  one  elbow,  her  face 
flushing. 

"You  took  my  note,  a  private  note,  written  to  some 
one  else?" 

"Yes.  It  was  contraband  of  war,  and  I  seized  it." 
214 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  have  been  opening  or  holding  up 
any  other  letters  of  mine  ?  It  is  rather  important  that 
I  should  know."  She  was  furious,  yet  her  eyes  could 
not  quite  hold  their  own  against  Ellen's  steady  look. 

"Oh,  come,  Christine,  you  know  I  haven't,"  she 
said  tolerantly.  "I  admit  that,  from  a  conventional 
point  of  view,  I  behaved  very  badly:  I  apologize  all 
you  like.  But  you  had  not  behaved  well  as  my  guest 
—  didn't  Ruth  object?  I  am  sure  she  would.  So 
suppose  we  call  it  square." 

"I  am  sorry  if  I  can't  see  it  as  you  do,"  was  the 
frigid  answer.  "A  man  very  kindly  helped  me  when  I 
was  suffering,  and  I  merely  wrote  to  thank  him  —  as 
you  probably  saw.  The  relation  between  that  and 
stealing  other  people's  letters  —  well,  it  is  too  much 
for  me!"  And  she  returned  pointedly  to  her  novel. 

"Very  well:  we  will  make  it  a  quarrel  if  you  prefer." 
Ellen  spoke  with  sudden  sternness.  "But  please 
remember  this:  no  one  who  stays  in  my  house  can 
have  any  intercourse  with  Dr.  Pocock."  And  she 
went  out,  leaving  Christine  to  reflections  that  evi 
dently  had  their  importance,  for  when  Ruth  came  in, 
an  hour  later,  all  signs  of  anger  had  gone  and  she  said 
nothing  about  her  grievance.  Christine  was  not  quite 
ready  to  go  home  yet. 

Ruth  brought  an  offering  of  candy  from  Wallace. 

"You  must  be  nice  to  him  to-night,"  she  urged, 
sitting  down  by  the  bed.  "The  poor  boy  was  so  blue 
and  cross  all  the  afternoon.  He  really  felt  dreadfully, 
Christine." 

2I5 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'll  relent  to-night,"  said  Christine,  com 
placently.  "He  is  a  nice  boy,  isn't  he?" 

"A  perfect  dear.  And  he  adores  the  ground  you 
walk  on.  Dear  me,  we  oughtn't  to  eat  this  now  and 
spoil  our  supper,"  she  added,  making  careful  selection 
from  the  paper  bag. 

"How  did  the  Flannerys  like  their  dresses?" 

"I  don't  know.  Mrs.  Flannery  didn't  seem  very 
pleased,  someway.  The  children  looked  bigger  than 
I  remembered;  I  was  so  afraid  they  couldn't  get  into 
them  that  I  flew  off  before  she  could  try  them  on.  She 
said  we  were  'rale  kind,'  and  all  that,  but  I  don't 
believe  it  pays  to  make  the  world  better  and  happier, 
myself." 

"Well,  we  had  the  fun  of  doing  them;  I  don't  care 
whether  they  can  wear  them  or  not,"  said  Christine, 
comfortably.  "Is  Will  coming  to  supper?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  And  you  must  cheer  him  up.  He  really 
is  a  love,  Christine.  I  don't  believe  you  would  find 
anyone  nicer." 

"He  hasn't  very  much  money,  as  yet,"  objected 
Christine.  "Still,  I  have  heard  that  he  is  a  good 
business  man.  Those  silly,  boyish  men  often 
are." 

"And  then  you  have  your  own,"  Ruth  reminded  her. 

"Oh,  of  course:  nothing  would  be  possible  without 
that.  He  is  going  to  be  too  fat,  later." 

"Well,  so  are  you." 

"Brute!  I  am  not.  There's  a  doctor  in  London 
who  can  reduce  you  thirty  pounds  in  five  weeks.  Betty 

216 


DR.    ELLEN 

Hall  has  got  his  directions,  and  she  is  going  to  lend 
them  to  me." 

"You  know  you  would  never  follow  them  for  more 
than  a  week.  I  will  love  you  just  the  same,  Christine, 
no  matter  how  much  you  weigh." 

"Thanks.  Here,  you  are  taking  all  the  wintergreen. 
The  nicest  thing  about  Will  is  that  is  he  always  so  fresh 
and  clean.  I  really  don't  think  I  could  care  seriously 
for  a  man  who  didn't  shave  every  day." 

"Mr.  Amsden  is  always  beautifully  fresh,  too,"  said 
Ruth.  Christine's  eyes  narrowed. 

"I  don't  altogether  —  make  that  man  out,"  she 
ventured.  "There  are  things  —  I  don't  know  that  I 
would  trust  him  too  far,  Ruth." 

"I  would  trust  him  farther  than  anyone  I  ever 
knew,"  said  Ruth  with  a  flash  of  anger.  "I  don't 
know  what  you  are  thinking  of,  Christine!" 

"Oh,  of  course  he  is  all  right,"  she  amended  hastily. 
"He  just  isn't  my  kind,  that  is  all.  Will  adores  him 
—  thinks  him  the  'straightest  chap  he  knows,'  and 
all  that." 

"I  should  think  he  might,"  said  Ruth,  subsiding. 
"Now  we  must  dress  or  we  shall  be  late  for  supper." 

"I  wish  I  could  go  down  like  this,"  said  Christine, 
limping  to  the  mirror  to  look  regretfully  at  the  loose 
becomingness  of  her  luxurious  negligee. 

"Well,  you  can't,"  said  Ruth,  who  was  not  wholly 
appeased. 


217 


XVI 

ELLEN  was  evidently  relieved  that  the  girls  showed 
no  disposition  to  attend  her  lecture  the  next  night. 
Amsden  had  quietly  made  up  his  mind  to  go,  but  did 
not  say  so  until  the  cart  was  at  the  door.  Ellen  ob 
jected  at  first,  and  only  consented  when  he  promised 
to  take  as  remote  a  position  as  possible  in  the  back  of 
the  hall.  Ruth  looked  grieved  as  they  drove  off,  and 
Christine's  eyebrows  were  at  a  significant  angle. 

These  days  of  Ellen's  activity  had  been  inexplicably 
oppressive  to  Amsden.  He  had  resolved  every  night 
that  he  would  leave  by  the  morning  stage,  yet  every 
morning  found  him  mounting  to  the  cabin  and  dog 
gedly  playing  his  part  in  the  everlasting  "good  times" 
that  the  girls  never  wearied  of  planning.  Ellen's  radiant 
energy,  her  complete  independence  of  them,  kept  him 
in  a  state  of  smouldering  irritation.  He  was  savagely 
pleased  to-night  that  she  seemed  to  have  collapsed  from 
the  goddess  of  victory  who  galloped  home  every  noon 
to  a  silent  and  rather  depressed  human  woman. 

"Are  you  afraid?"  he  asked  as  he  helped  her  down 
at  the  hall. 

"  Oh,  no.  I  was  thinking  of  other  things,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile  for  Mr.  Gilfillan,  who  was  watching  for  her. 

218 


DR.    ELLEN 

The  crowded  hall  was  in  giggling  darkness  as  they 
entered,  the  electric  lights  having  abruptly  winked  out, 
as  they  usually  did  on  public  occasions.  Several 
youths  had  sprung  to  the  rescue  with  matches  and 
were  mounting  chairs  to  light  the  lamps  set  on  brackets 
about  the  walls,  and  prudentially  kept  ready  for  ser 
vice.  The  humorists  —  and  Gallop  had  many  — 
were  making  the  most  of  the  occasion:  several  empty 
kisses  rent  the  air,  and  the  sound  of  a  tingling  slap 
coming  from  a  shadowed  corner  roused  a  roar  of 
laughter.  The  growing  light  showed  the  elders  grin 
ning  appreciatively,  some  of  them  with  a  sheepish 
embarrassment  not  noticeable  in  the  younger  genera 
tion.  They  were  all  in  genial  mood  when  Ellen  ap 
peared,  and  as  she  stepped  up  on  the  platform  there 
was  a  murmur  of  applause,  conspicuously  led  by 
Dr.  Pocock.  He  had  settled  himself  in  the  middle 
of  the  front  row,  and  his  expression  was  calmly 
tolerant. 

She  faced  them  with  a  grave  serenity  that  brought 
instant  quiet.  The  lamplight,  falling  on  her  straight, 
heavy  hair,  gave  it  the  shine  of  stubble  where  it  parted 
over  her  low,  sunburned  forehead,  and  touched  with 
unreality  the  sheer  whiteness  of  her  gown,  outlining 
her  wonderful  shoulders  and  arms.  It  seemed  to 
Amsden  at  that  moment  that  she  was  the  strongest 
creature  he  had  ever  seen,  and  also,  in  a  very  big 
sense,  the  most  beautiful.  His  heart  beat  heavily  as 
he  waited  for  her  to  begin. 

Ellen  was  not  frightened.  After  a  glance  at  Dr. 
219 


DR.    ELLEN 

Pocock,  she  looked  calmly  past  him,  and  his  varying 
expressions  of  amusement  or  remonstrance,  the  slow, 
dubious  shakes  of  his  head,  did  not  reach  her,  however 
they  affected  the  crowd  about  him.  She  spoke  quietly 
and  distinctly,  the  contralto  note  in  her  voice  deepening 
with  her  earnestness,  her  meaning  as  clear  as  a  child's 
primer.  When  she  had  finished  the  indirect  self- 
defence  that  underlay  her  explanations  of  antitoxins, 
there  was  a  burst  of  hearty  applause;  only  Dr.  Pocock 
sat  with  folded  arms,  frowning  more  in  sorrow  than 
in  anger. 

He  was  not  prepared  for  the  next  step;  for  Ellen, 
without  a  glance  in  his  direction,  went  on  to  the  sub 
ject  of  patent  medicines.  Her  war  upon  them  had 
been  so  persistent  that  the  crowd  laughed  a  little  when 
Mr.  Gilfillan  brought  her  two  well-known  bottles,  but 
the  laugh  hushed  uncomfortably  as  the  familiar  Pre 
scription  was  set  on  the  table  with  the  others.  Shy 
glances  at  Dr.  Pocock  showed  him  smiling  with  a 
somewhat  rigid  blandness.  Ellen  had  never  applied 
the  test  for  alcohol  in  public  before,  and  the  crowd 
watched  intently  as  Mr.  Gilfillan  arranged  the  ap 
paratus.  The  formality  of  the  lecture  was  at  an  end : 
she  talked  to  them  as  she  would  have  in  their  own 
homes.  The  mellow  lamplight  and  shadow  on  the 
rough,  upturned  faces  gave  them  a  beauty  that  the 
electric  glare  would  have  wiped  out,  and  Amsden 
carried  the  picture  for  long  afterwards,  though  at  the 
time  an  indefinable  nervousness  for  Ellen  clouded  his 
appreciation.  One  by  one  the  medicines  sent  up  their 

220 


DR.    ELLEN 

alcoholic  blaze,  and  the  Prescription  blazed  the  highest 
of  all. 

"If  you  really  must  have  alcohol,  you  know,  whiskey 
is  a  good  deal  cheaper,"  said  Ellen,  casually,  and  the 
lecture  ended  in  a  laugh. 

Dr.  Pocock  rose,  and  his  eyes,  hard  and  angry, 
looked  straight  into  Ellen's. 

"I  ask  the  privilege  of  speaking  a  few  words,"  he 
said,  with  ironical  courtesy. 

Ellen  consented  with  a  slight  bow,  and  seated  her 
self  in  the  platform  chair  as  he  mounted.  Some  in 
stinct  told  her  that  she  must  stay  face  to  face  with  the 
house  while  he  spoke.  For  all  his  controlled  voice, 
she  divined  in  him  a  rage  that  would  stop  at  nothing. 
Silence  spread  quickly  through  the  hall,  but  he  waited 
a  minute  before  he  began. 

"My  good  friends,  I  am  not  here  to  defend  my 
professional  reputation,"  he  said,  with  a  widening  of 
the  lips  meant  for  a  smile.  "My  methods  speak  for 
themselves.  Do  I  cure  you  ?  Do  you  feel  better  after 
I  have  prescribed  for  you?  If  you  do,  that  is  all  the 
testimonial  I  want  —  slander  can't  hurt  me,  nor  mock 
trials  with  doctored  drugs."  His  smothered  fury 
flamed  up  for  an  instant,  but  he  drove  it  back  and  his 
voice  became  ominously  smooth.  "We  doctors  stand 
or  fall  by  what  we  do  —  have  any  of  your  little  ones 
died  under  my  care  ?  —  and  by  what  we  are  —  has  my 
character  as  a  man  given  you  any  right  to  distrust  me  ?" 

The  significance  he  threw  into  the  last  words  made 
Amsden's  hands  involuntarily  clench.  He  tried  to 


DR.    ELLEN 

move  nearer  the  front,  but  he  was  hopelessly  wedged 
in  by  the  crowd,  and  was  roughly  bidden  to  be  still. 

"I  am  not  here  to  offer  excuses  or  explanations," 
Pocock  repeated.  "If  my  skill  fails  you,  do  not  em 
ploy  me;  if  my  moral  conduct  is  open  to  question — " 
his  narrowed  eyes  searched  their  faces,  then  his  fist 
came  down  sharply  on  the  table  at  his  side  —  "do  not 
admit  me  freely  to  your  homes!" 

Accusation  flashed  unmistakably  through  the  thun 
der  of  his  reckless  anger.  The  crowd  stared  in  be 
wildered  silence  from  him  to  Ellen.  He  would  have 
stepped  down  from  the  platform,  but  she  rose  and 
checked  him. 

"  Dr.  Pocock,  you  have  gone  too  far  not  to  go  a  little 
farther,"  she  said  with  perfect  serenity.  "If  you  are 
referring  to  my  conduct,  where  has  it  fallen  below  — 
your  standard?" 

This  was  evidently  unexpected:  his  bearing  lost  a 
shade  of  its  pompous  dignity. 

"I  make  no  charges,"  he  said  curtly.  "I  advise  you 
not  to  press  such  questions." 

"But  I  insist  on  pressing  that  question,"  was  the 
clear  answer.  "You  may  put  aside  all  scruples,  all 
your  natural  chivalry;"  she  smiled  faintly,  and  to 
Amsden,  sick  with  rage,  came  the  astounding  con 
sciousness  that  she  was  enjoying  herself;  "charge  me 
with  any  crime  in  the  catalogue  of  which  you  honestly 
believe  me  guilty." 

There  was  an  echo  of  approval  from  the  house. 
"Fair  play!"  they  called.  "Say  it  out  —  that's  right!" 


DR.    ELLEN 

He  saw  how  he  was  losing  ground  with  them,  and  the 
last  shreds  of  his  prudence  parted  before  a  gust  of  rage. 

"As  you  will!"  he  burst  out.  "Ask  her  what  hap 
pened  one  night  not  long  ago  in  a  camp  on  Juniper 
Creek!" 

The  elation  of  battle  was  momentarily  dimmed  in 
Ellen's  eyes.  "Don't  you  all  know  what  happened?" 
she  asked,  turning  to  the  tense  crowd,  and  she  read  in 
their  faces  that  they  did.  "Some  of  you  saw  fit  to 
leave  the  effigy  of  a  dead  child  by  our  camp-fire.  We 
carried  it  away  at  once  and  buried  it  in  the 
woods." 

"You  and  —  one  of  your  guests?"  suggested  the 
doctor,  suddenly  suave. 

"Yes,"  she  assented. 

"You  carried  it  away  at  once,"  he  repeated.  "And 
I  am  told  that  it  was  left  there  at  about  two  in  the 
morning.  Well,  then  — "it  was  the  pause  of  the  en 
raged  animal  before  he  plunges  straight  at  his  victim, 
head  down — "how  did  it  happen  that  you  and  this 
man  did  not  get  back  to  the  camp  until  dawn?" 

The  shock  of  the  charge  paled  many  of  the  uplifted 
faces.  They  looked  to  see  her  grow  white  or  crimson, 
to  storm  or  break  down :  no  one  was  prepared  for  what 
did  happen  —  for  Ellen  laughed.  It  was  not  a  laugh 
of  scorn  or  of  defiance;  merely  a  little  impulsive  note 
of  amused  relief. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Pocock,  these  people  know  me  better  than 
you  do,"  she  said.  "On  that  head,  I  don't  need  to 
explain  myself  to  them!" 

223 


DR.    ELLEN 

She  might  have  spoken  just  so  to  an  outrageous  child : 
and  her  smile  of  perfect  confidence  fell  on  their  strained 
nerves  like  a  sign  from  the  heaven  of  all  righteousness. 
There  was  a  storm  of  applause.  A  moment  later,  the 
entire  hall  was  trying  to  shake  Ellen's  hand. 

As  soon  as  he  could  extricate  himself  from  the  jam, 
Amsden  started  with  quiet  singleness  of  purpose  after 
Pocock;  but  the  doctor  had  disappeared.  After  a 
brief  search  he  made  his  way  to  Ellen. 

"Shall  you  object  if  I  get  someone  else  to  go  home 
with  you?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said  with  a  keen  glance.  "I  prefer  you. 
I  am  all  ready  now."  And  she  smiled  at  his  disap 
pointed  face.  "I  want  you  to  promise  me  not  to  go 
back  to  the  village  to-night,"  she  said  later,  as  they 
were  driving  home. 

"Must  I?" 

"Yes,  please." 

He  promised  with  an  expressive  cut  of  the  whip. 
Rage  was  still  boiling  within,  and  he  rejoiced  grimly 
that  she  extracted  no  promise  for  the  morrow.  Neither 
spoke  again  on  the  drive. 

Everyone  had  gone  to  bed  at  the  cabin.  He  put  up 
the  horse  while  Ellen  brought  out  mild  refreshments, 
then  dropped  into  a  deep  chair  to  wait  for  him.  Her 
eyes  studied  his  set,  angry  face,  when  he  came  in,  with 
a  glimmer  of  amusement. 

"You  must  not  take  it  so  hard,"  she  protested.  He 
softened  a  little  as  he  stood  in  front  of  her. 

"You    wonderful    woman!"    he    said    impulsively. 
224 


DR.    ELLEN 

"You  were  great  —  magnificent!    But  how  can  I  help 
raging  when  mud  is  thrown  at  you?" 

"  But  you  would  not  be  offended  if  you  were  accused 
of  —  well,  say  of  murdering  your  grandmother,"  she 
argued  reasonably.  "It  meant  no  more  to  me  than 
that;  it  was  too  remote.  Pocock  has  hurt  himself  — 
badly.  He  won't  need  any  further  punishment,"  she 
added,  and  there  was  mischievous  understanding  in 
her  smile. 

He  threw  himself  into  a  chair.  "  Oh,  let  me  go  and 
lick  him!"  he  pleaded  boyishly. 

"Not  on  any  account.  Remember,  I  won't  have  it. 
Now,  come  and  eat,  for  it  is  late.  One  thing  puzzles 
me,"  she  added  suddenly,  looking  startled.  "How  did 
he  know  that  it  was  dawn  when  we  came  back?" 

He  had  not  thought  of  that.  "Do  you  suppose 
they  followed  us  and  watched?"  he  wondered. 

"No.  Someone  must  have  —  perhaps  Rory  saw  us 
and  unconsciously  let  it  out.  Of  course  she  saw  us! 
That  is  why — "  She  fell  into  a  thoughtful  silence 
that  presently  led  her  away  from  Rory,  for  she  looked 
up  to  say,  rather  despondently,  "Do  you  know,  some 
of  Pocock's  success  has  been  my  fault,  a  failure  in  me." 
Amsden  looked  skeptical,  but  poured  himself  out  a 
glass  of  milk  and  waited  for  her  to  go  on.  "I  never 
realized  it  until  I  overheard  Miss  Murray  talking  to 
Miss  Gowdy  one  day.  She  said  that  Dr.  Pocock  was 
more  sympathetic  than  I  was:  that  the  least  little  thing 
roused  his  interest  and  concern.  Of  course,  Pocock 
is  a  sham;  but  it  is  true  that  I  haven't  been  sympa- 

225 


DR.    ELLEN 

thetic  enough  about  small  matters.  When  I  think 
them  peevish  and  cowardly  —  I  am  afraid  I  show 
it." 

"But  why  shouldn't  you?  Surely  your  influence 
ought  to  be  tonic,  bracing." 

"But  not  antagonizing!  If  you  could  see  Mr.  Gil- 
fillan  with  a  sick  person,  you  would  understand.  He 
is  so  warm,  so  intensely  with  them,  that  nothing  is  too 
small  or  mean  to  rouse  his  concern.  In  his  inmost 
heart  it  never  occurs  to  him  that  anyone  is  peevish  or 
cowardly;  he  sees  the  great  courage  and  the  great  suffer 
ing  of  mountain  life,  and  for  him  it  reflects  back  a 
glory  on  each  least  little  member.  I  have  done  some 
thing  here  —  oh,  yes,  I  have  done  a  great  deal:  if  you 
knew  the  needless  suffering  in  these  far-off  places  for 
lack  of  proper  treatment!  But  the  big  work  will  be 
his.  My  best  contribution  will  be  that  I  helped  him 
find  his  way  to  it." 

Amsden  slowly  set  down  his  glass  of  milk,  and  pushed 
his  plate  away.  He  had  felt  pain  in  his  life,  mental 
and  physical,  but  never  anything  like  this  sudden 
grinding,  crushing  misery.  It  had  no  name;  but  in 
its  glare  he  seemed  at  last  to  see  truly,  to  see  himself, 
selfish,  limited,  a  thing  of  unillumined  clay,  unfit  for 
even  the  friendship  of  such  men  and  women  as  Gil- 
fillan  and  Ellen.  His  forehead  dropped  on  his  hands, 
and  he  stared  down  a  vista  of  empty,  arid  years  to 
come,  years  in  which  those  two  grew  and  blossomed, 
while  he  stood  a  dry  stalk  rattling  in  the  wind.  Then 
it  passed,  as  a  wave  of  sickness  might,  and  hope  came 

226 


DR.    ELLEN 

in  its  place.  He  lifted  his  head,  and  put  out  one  hand 
to  her  across  the  table. 

"  Ellen,  I  want  to  belong.  I  want  to  pull  myself  up 
till  I  am  fit  to  be  your  friend  and  Gilfillan's.  Don't 
give  me  up  —  wait  and  see.  You  have  been  to  me, 
you  two,  like  sudden  green  things  in  a  desert.  I  had 
almost  accepted  the  desert  as  all  that  could  be  hoped 
for.  Now  I  know  better  —  and  I  shall  find  the  water. 
Dear  woman,  I  am  going  to  be  grateful  to  you  all  my 
life." 

Her  hands  were  clasped  on  her  knees,  and  her  averted 
face  was  troubled.  "Oh,  no  —  not  to  me!  I  always 
fail,"  she  murmured.  "Be  grateful  to  him  if  you 
like." 

"To  you  both.  Good-night."  He  lifted  her  hands 
and  held  them  for  a  moment  between  his  palms,  then 
turned  to  go;  but  halted  abruptly  with  a  warning 
finger  held  up,  and  a  nod  towards  the  window.  The 
tall  form  of  Ned  Spaulding  stood  beneath  them  in 
bold  outline,  his  gloomy  face  lifted  to  the  stream  of 
light,  his  attitude  suggesting  insolent  waiting.  Ellen 
threw  back  her  head. 

"Oh,  this  is  too  much!"  she  exclaimed  angrily.  "I 
shall  go  and  have  it  out  with  him,  once  for  all!"  Ams- 
den  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  her  arm. 

"No;  let  me  go.  It  is  not  wise  for  you.  I  can 
send  him  away."  Some  of  her  anger  turned  on  him. 

"I  prefer  to  go  myself.  You  will  please  not  in 
terfere." 

Ancient  New  England  was  clear  in  his  quiet  face. 
227 


DR.    ELLEN 

"I  must  interfere.  You  will  be  insulted  —  perhaps 
hurt.  I  cannot  allow  it." 

"I  don't  see  what  right  — " 

Amsden's  muscles  suddenly  tightened.  "Never 
mind  my  right.  I  ask  you  to  go  upstairs  and  leave 
this  to  me." 

"And  I  decline.  Please  take  your  hand  away." 
Their  eyes  met  in  a  long  encounter. 

"I  cannot  bear  to  have  you  run  a  foolish  risk,"  he 
urged.  "I  want  you  to  go  away  and  let  me  deal  with 
him." 

"And  I  refuse.     We  will  not  discuss  it  any  longer." 

A  quick  rage  swept  through  Amsden  like  a  flame, 
leaving  him  white.  He  drew  his  hand  away  and  faced 
her  over  folded  arms. 

"Ellen,  you  will  do  as  I  say!" 

The  anger  in  her  eyes  died  to  amazement  before  the 
sternness  in  his.  Her  breath  came  quickly  between 
her  parted  lips,  but  she  said  nothing.  Her  hands  rose 
in  exasperated  protest,  then  fell  helplessly.  The 
pathos  of  her  bewilderment  smote  him  sharply,  after 
wards.  Now  he  realized  only  that  she  was  turning 
away  and  going  slowly  up  the  stairs.  He  waited  a 
moment  for  the  tumult  within  to  subside.  His  pulses 
were  still  throbbing  as  though  he  had  just  run  a  vic 
torious  race  when  he  went  out  to  face  Spaulding. 

"Well?  "he  began  shortly. 

Spaulding  stared  at  him  with  sullen  insolence,  then 
turned  and  resumed  his  waiting  attitude.  He  was  the 
taller  by  half  a  head,  but  Amsden  was  strung  with  a 

228 


DR.    ELLEN 

sense  of  power  beside  which  physique  seemed  a  child's 
weapon. 

"  You  cannot  see  Dr.  Roderick  to-night,"  he  went  on. 
"If  you  have  a  message  for  her,  give  it  to  me.  Other 
wise,  clear  out." 

Spaulding's  eyes  came  slowly  back  to  him. 

"Message  for  her!  Oh,  yes,  I  got  a  message  for 
her!"  He  laughed  to  himself.  "I  guess  she'll  hev' 
to  come  and  get  it  herself  —  you  ain't  big  enough  to 
carry  it." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Spaulding.  You  will  only  get 
yourself  into  trouble."  Amsden  spoke  temperately 
over  a  mounting  desire  to  fling  policy  aside  and  meet 
the  man  with  uncivilized  methods.  "You  can't  see 
her,  and  you  might  as  well  go  peaceably." 

"H'm!  Afraid,  is  she?  Guess  she  better  be. 
Guess  she  — " 

Amsden  took  a  quick  step  forward. 

"You  crazy  bully!"  he  said  between  his  teeth. 
"I'll  give  you  just  one  minute  to  get  up  that  trail." 
Spaulding  had  fallen  back  a  pace. 

"And  what  if  I  won't?"  he  demanded. 

"By  God,  you  will!" 

The  primitive  impulse  surged,  broke  through  the 
decorous  years  of  restraint;  before  he  knew  he  had 
struck,  Amsden  felt  with  savage  satisfaction  the  shock 
of  hard  flesh  against  his  clenched  knuckles.  An 
instant  later  the  two  men  went  down  together  in  the 
dust  of  the  road. 

Shame  followed  swiftly  on  the  first  half  dozen  blows. 
229 


DR.    ELLEN 

Amsden  pulled  himself  away  and  got  up,  Spaulding 
making  no  effort  to  keep  him. 

"That's  enough  for  to-night,"  he  said  quietly,  though 
his  muscles  still  swelled  in  challenge  under  his  coat. 
Spaulding  picked  himself  up  and  turned  to  the  trail 
without  a  word  or  a  glance;  whether  he  went  in  weak 
ness  or  in  strength,  to  give  up  or  to  come  back  for 
vengeance,  his  unhurried  step  gave  no  sign. 

Amsden  shook  the  dust  from  his  coat,  and  seated 
himself  on  the  steps.  The  air  was  keen,  but  he  was 
unconscious  of  it.  Over  his  whirling  thoughts  one 
stood  out  clear  and  triumphant;  it  was  good  to  be  a 
man !  The  cords  of  his  arms  tightened,  and  he  laughed 
silently,  excitedly,  with  the  magnitude  of  this  con 
sciousness.  His  alert  eyes  were  blind  to  the  silvered 
splendour  of  the  mountains  or  the  inky  silhouettes  of 
the  pines;  he  saw  only  shadows  that  might  give  forth 
dangers  for  him  to  conquer.  This  household  was  his 
to  defend,  and  its  enemies  were  his  enemies,  and  the 
battle  was  to  the  strong! 

Late  that  night,  when  the  cabin  lights  were  out  and 
Wallace  in  the  next  room  was  sound  asleep,  Amsden 
took  his  grey  blankets,  and,  stealing  out  of  the  house, 
climbed  the  trail  to  a  ledge  just  below  the  cabin.  All 
that  marvellous  night,  while  the  blazing  stars  gave 
place  to  the  late  moon  and  coyotes  yelped  from  dis 
tant  hillsides  and  the  cold  poured  over  him  in  a  tide  of 
primeval  purity,  he  felt  no  need  of  sleep.  He  did  not 
analyze,  he  would  have  laughed  at  anyone  who  told 
him  that  he  was  in  love;  this  arrow  flight  of  the  tri- 

230 


DR.    ELLEN 

umphant  spirit  through  bright  space  was  the  normal 
state  of  the  young  and  living  man. 

The  first  whiteness  of  dawn  found  the  peace  undis 
turbed.  He  rose  and  turned  to  the  trail,  stopping  to 
shrink  into  the  shadow  of  a  boulder  as  his  foot  dislodged 
a  stone,  setting  it  bounding  noisily  down  the  slope. 
The  blind  windows  above  gave  no  sign,  so  presently 
he  took  his  way  down,  and,  letting  himself  into  the  cot 
tage,  was  soon  asleep. 

He  awoke  early,  as  refreshed  as  though  he  had  done 
away  with  his  usual  bodily  needs.  Breakfast  seemed 
as  superfluous  as  sleep;  he  looked  with  wonder  at 
Wallace's  placid  enjoyment  of  it,  and  presently  left 
him  to  go  for  the  mail,  eager  for  movement  and  morn 
ing  air.  It  was  a  sunny,  kindly  day,  full  of  children 
who  smiled  at  him,  and  nice  dogs  with  a  friendly  wag 
of  the  tail  for  an  acquaintance,  and  spirited  horses 
with  gallant  riders.  The  air  was  alive  with  promise 
of  good  things  to  happen,  and  they  all  came  true  when 
he  met  Ellen  at  the  door  of  the  post- office. 

"Oh,  it  is  a  good  world!"  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand.  She  smiled  with  a  trace  of  shyness  deliciously 
unexpected.  They  walked  on  aimlessly,  not  noticing 
whither.  Her  hand  was  full  of  letters,  but  when  he 
wanted  to  take  them  for  her,  she  absently  shook  her 
head,  as  though  she  had  no  attention  to  spare  for 
material  trivialities.  Her  face  was  lifted  to  the  glisten 
ing  splendour  of  the  morning  as  they  crossed  the 
bridge  over  foaming,  cold  breathing  Juniper,  and 
climbed  in  silence  up  the  broken  end  of  its  cation  wall 

231 


DR.    ELLEN 

till  they  stood  on  the  summit  of  a  narrow  ridge,  green 
darkness  and  sheer  granite  cliffs  on  one  side,  and  on 
the  other  a  savage  waste  of  chaperral  and  harsh  rock, 
broken  only  by  the  cut  of  a  road  along  the  hot  flank 
far  beneath. 

"That  is  the  road  we  took  to  the  camp,"  said  Ellen, 
still  with  absent  eyes. 

"And  where  I  rode  back  all  alone,"  said  Amsden. 
Her  mood  thrilled  him  unaccountably,  and  yet  his 
doubting  mind  forced  him  to  break  through  it  to 
make  sure  that  her  silence  was  not  merely  forgetfulness 
of  him.  She  came  out  of  her  dream  with  a  little  laugh. 

"Ah,  yes,  I  was  hateful,"  she  admitted. 

"How  could  you  help  it,  dear  woman,  believing  what 
you  did!"  The  note  in  his  voice  startled  him  as  well 
as  her:  they  both  flushed,  and  she  turned  from  the 
wide  view  to  follow  the  rough  top  of  the  ridge.  When 
she  faced  him  again  her  every- day  practicality  had 
taken  possession,  and  checked  his  mood  like  a  hand 
laid  on  a  ringing  bell.  The  resonant  joy  of  the  morning 
was  quenched. 

"I  must  not  forget  that  I  have  an  office  hour  at  ten," 
she  said  with  desolating  cheerfulness. 

"But  it  is  not  nine  yet,"  he  urged.  "Sit  here  under 
this  old  pine." 

"Well,  for  a  few  moments.  I  don't  want  to  be  late; 
there  may  be  results  from  my  lecture." 

"A  stream  of  patients?"  he  asked  listlessly,  more 
interested  in  watching  the  smooth  shine  of  her  hair  in 
the  sun  as  he  lay  on  the  ground  beside  her. 

232 


DR.    ELLEN 

"That,  or  a  visit  from  Pocock.  I  don't  suppose  he 
will  retire  without  expressing  himself.  Oh,  he  will 
fight;  but  just  the  same,  I  prophesy  that  in  two  months 
he  will  have  vanished." 

" Oh,  are  you  never  coming  back?  Is  this  life  really 
everything  to  you?"  broke  from  him.  Her  face 
clouded. 

"I  may  come  back  some  day  —  I  don't  know,"  she 
said,  turning  away.  "I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it." 

"You  don't  want  to  talk  about  anything  but  your 
infernal  doctoring,"  he  declared  irritably. 

"I  will  talk  on  any  impersonal  subject  you  like," 
she  said  with  a  grave  frankness  that  made  him  ashamed 
of  his  petulance.  He  dropped  his  forehead  on  his 
arm. 

"It  must  be  impersonal?" 

"It  must  not  be  about  you  and  me.  Oh,  tell  me 
what  you  said  to  Spaulding  last  night,"  she  added. 
"Was  he  hard  to  deal  with?" 

"I  didn't  say  much;"  Amsden  smiled  to  himself. 
"My  argument  seemed  to  work,  however.  All  my 
arguments  seemed  to  be  effective  last  night,"  he  ven 
tured  with  a  quick,  amused  glance  up  at  her.  She 
smiled  in  spite  of  herself. 

"Well,  you  warned  me  that  we  should  have  a  fight 
some  day,  and  that  the  better  man  would  win,"  she 
reminded  him,  rising.  Her  attitude  said  that  since  he 
would  not  be  good,  they  must  go. 

"But  that  was  not  our  fight,"  he  protested.  "That 
was  merely  a  trial  of  tempers,  in  which  mine  was  proved 

233 


DR.    ELLEN 

the  worse.  No:  our  fight  is  still  to  come,  and  it  is  for 
a  principle.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  me,"  he  added. 

She  seemed  to  flush  easily  to-day.  "Then  what  is 
it  about?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  unless  you  sit  down."  She  hesi 
tated,  then  took  a  provisional  seat  on  a  jutting  rock. 
"You  will  probably  hate  me  for  it,  and,  conventionally, 
it  is  none  of  my  business,"  he  went  on  with  a  serious 
ness  that  reassured  her.  "But  you  are  too  big  to  take 
things  conventionally:  if  I  am  in  the  wrong  you  will 
prove  it  to  me.  It  is  about  Ruth." 

A  frightened  look  came  into  her  eyes.     "Ruth?" 

"Yes.  About  making  her  live  up  here,  when  she  is 
so  rebellious  against  it."  She  bent  down  her  face 
over  her  folded  arms,  and  said  nothing:  he  had  to 
look  away  from  her  to  go  on  in  the  same  quiet  imper 
sonal  tone.  "When  I  came  up  here  I  saw  only  her 
side.  Every  day  since  has  been  showing  me  your  side 
—  how  fine  and  selfless  your  work  is,  how  much  you 
care  for  her,  how  much  it  ought  to  mean  for  her  good 
just  to  live  with  a  woman  like  you.  And  yet  here  she 
is,  bitter,  resentful,  every  inch  of  her  demanding  her 
freedom.  And  I  cannot  convince  myself  that  she 
hasn't  a  right  to  her  own  life.  I  felt  it  so  that  night 
we  danced  —  she  is  so  passionately  alive.  Surely, 
surely,  it  isn't  right  to  keep  her  cut  off  from  everything 
her  nature  demands." 

"But  she  has  not  always  been  like  this;"  there 
was  a  desolate  note  in  Ellen's  voice  that  wrung  him. 
"Until  this  spring  she  seemed  fairly  contented,  a  good 

234 


DR.    ELLEN 

deal  of  the  time.  And  it  is  only  since  she  went  down 
to  the  tennis  tournament  that  she  has  been  so  — 
so  bitter.  You  must  believe  that." 

"Of  course  I  do.  But  now  she  is  awake  and  you 
can't  put  her  to  sleep  again." 

"You  don't  think  —  she  might  find  some  inter 
ests —  ?"  Ellen  spoke  hopelessly,  still  with  her  head 
bent  down  so  that  he  could  not  see  her  face. 

"No.  I  think  you  have  got  to  let  her  go."  But  he 
hated  himself  for  saying  it.  "If  money  is  a  difficulty," 
he  began  presently  as  she  did  not  speak. 

"Oh,  no.  It  isn't  that.  Oh,  if  that  were  all!" 
She  rose  abruptly,  and  all  Ruth's  passionate  crying  out 
had  never  hurt  him  like  the  sight  of  tears  on  her  cheeks. 
Their  battle  was  on,  but  she  was  not  fighting,  and  all  at 
once  he  did  not  want  to  win.  He  started  to  his  feet. 

"Ellen,  forgive  me  —  I  am  a  fool!" 

"You  don't  know,  you  don't  understand,"  she  said 
brokenly.  "I  will  tell  you,  some  day.  Now  I  want 
to  go." 

He  followed  her  down  in  silence,  too  heavy-hearted 
for  her  to  care  whether  or  not  he  had  liberated  Ruth. 
If  she  had  only  argued  or  protested,  he  could  have 
fought  even  tears;  but  this  stricken  silence  left  him 
helpless. 

The  streets  of  the  town  were  unusually  empty,  and 
finally  they  spoke  of  it,  but  with  no  room  in  their  minds 
for  any  real  wonder  until  a  turn  of  the  road  brought 
them  in  sight  of  an  excited  crowd  clustered  along  the 
sidewalk  opposite  the  trim  white  cottage  of  the  Finches. 

235 


DR.    ELLEN 

A  woman  ran  by  them,  crying,  and  instantly  the  crowd 
gathered  about  her.  Her  tale  was  borne  back  towards 
them  in  angry  exclamations.  Mothers  clutched  their 
children  and  drew  them  away,  and  the  groups  shrank 
back  to  either  side  as  the  woman,  her  tale  ended,  ran 
up  the  walk  and  into  the  Finch  cottage.  Ellen  caught 
a  hurrying  mother. 

"What  is  it?    I  must  know." 

"It's  smallpox,"  was  the  breathless  answer;  "and 
my  Johnny,  he  played  with  Benjy  the  last  day  he  was 
out.  Oh,  my,  my!" 

"And  Dr.  Pocock  won't  come,"  volunteered  another 
woman.  "Miss  Murray,  she  saw  Benjy  this  morning, 
and  she  says,  'My  God,  Carrie  Finch,  that  ain't  no 
chicken-pox  —  it's  smallpox,  sure's  you  live!'  She 
seen  it  before,  and  she  run  to  the  doctor.  And  he  says, 
yes,  he  knowed  day  before  yesterday  'twas  smallpox, 
and  he  won't  come.  She's  been  again  to  beg  him." 

"Says  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  his  other  cases,"  broke 
in  a  man.  "Scared!" 

"Mean  little  skunk,"  added  another.  "I  never  did 
set  much  store  by  him." 

Amsden  heard  with  a  terrible  dismay,  knowing  what 
would  come.  Ellen  handed  him  her  letters  and  left 
him  without  a  word  or  a  glance. 

"There  goes  Dr.  Ellen  — she  ain't  afraid!"  ex 
claimed  a  voice.  It  ran  through  the  crowd  like  a 
quick  wind  as  Ellen  crossed  the  road.  "She  ain't 
afraid.  She  never  held  back  from  nothing!  She'll 
pull  him  through."  Ellen,  wholly  unconscious  of 

236 


DR.    ELLEN 

everything  but  her  purpose,  had  almost  reached  the 
gate  when  Ned  Spaulding  broke  from  the  crowd  and 
confronted  her  with  uplifted  arms. 

"No!  Don't  let  her  kill  any  more  children!"  he 
cried.  "Let  him  die  the  Lord's  own  way,  if  he  must. 
Don't  let's  have  no  more  doctor  murder  in  our  homes!" 

The  crowd  stared,  too  bewildered  for  the  moment  to 
take  sides.  Amsden  started  forward,  but  Ellen  checked 
him  with  a  gesture. 

"Ned  Spaulding,"  she  said  clearly,  "no  child  and 
no  grown  person  has  ever  died  in  this  place  through 
my  neglect  or  my  indolence  or  my  wilful  ignorance. 
I  have  given  you  —  all  of  you  —  my  human  best,  and 
I  demand  that  you  recognize  it." 

They  moved  restlessly  before  her  accusing  eyes. 
Spaulding  laughed  contemptuously,  then  his  face 
darkened  as  no  one  echoed  him  or  rallied  to  his  side. 
Striding  swiftly  across  her  path,  he  stood  blocking  the 
way  like  an  ancient  prophet,  gaunt  and  gloomy,  his 
black  eyes  glowering  at  her,  his  great,  bony  hands 
resting  on  the  gate  posts. 

"You'll  not  go  in  to  that  child!"  he  shouted.  Ellen 
went  towards  him  like  an  outraged  Victory. 

"Let  me  pass!"  she  said  with  a  sternness  before 
which  his  eyes  faltered ;  his  hands  dropped  to  his  sides. 
Then  a  flush  of  rage  mounted  to  his  face  as  though  at 
his  own  wavering.  He  threw  back  his  head,  and  one 
hand  made  a  quick  movement  towards  his  hip  pocket. 
Instantly,  before  Amsden  could  stir,  the  crowd  was 
upon  him,  women  as  well  as  men.  He  was  seized, 

237 


DR.    ELLEN 

hustled,  dragged  aside,  shrill  voices  rose  at  him  in 
bitter  denunciation.  "We've  had  enough  of  you,  Ned 
Spaulding!"  the  cry  swept  after  him  as  they  rushed 
him  down  the  street.  A  man  might  commit  many 
crimes  in  Gallop,  but  he  might  not  put  hand  to  his 
gun  against  a  woman,  and  by  that  movement  Spauld 
ing  had  hurled  himself  from  his  high  position  as 
martyr.  His  face  was  bewildered,  stricken,  when 
they  let  him  go.  There  was  no  fight  left  in 
him. 

Amsden,  sick  at  heart,  waited  with  the  rest  for  a 
terrible  twenty  minutes.  The  air  was  filled  with 
threats  of  what  would  happen  if  Ellen  were  interfered 
with,  mingled  with  defiant  praises  of  her,  tardy  recol 
lections  of  her  skill  and  devotion.  What  her  simple 
courage  the  night  before  had  begun,  Spaulding's  ges 
ture  had  completed;  she  was  theirs  wholly  once  more. 
At  last  an  excited  woman  opened  the  cottage  door,  and 
ran  down  to  the  gate. 

"'Tain't  smallpox  at  all,"  she  announced  joyfully. 
"  Old  Pocock  was  wrong.  It's  just  chicken-pox  —  she 
says  so.  I'm  going  to  stay  and  help;  Miss  Finch  is 
just  about  done  up." 

"  Good  for  you,  Miss  Murray,"  called  several  voices 
after  her,  as  she  hurried  back.  The  crowd  began  to 
move  away. 

"He  don't  even  know  smallpox  from  chicken-pox!" 
was  the  universal  comment.  Everyone  seemed  sud 
denly  to  remember  some  mistake  Dr.  Pocock  had 
made.  The  men  laughed  derisively.  "Had  his  scare 

238 


DR.    ELLEN 

for  nothing!"  they  jeered.  " Guess  we've  had  about 
enough  of  him  I19 

The  street  was  deserted,  except  for  Amsden,  when 
Ellen  came  out.  Miss  Finch  followed  her,  and  they 
shook  hands  warmly  at  the  door.  Ellen  was  buoyant, 
smiling,  filled  with  the  satisfaction  of  her  work,  a 
mood  that  oppressed  Amsden  with  a  sense  of  the 
distance  between  them,  and  the  completeness  of  her 
individual  life.  He  repeated  to  her  what  he  had 
overheard  in  the  crowd. 

"Pocock  has  ended  his  career  here,  I  imagine,"  he 
added.  "The  blunder  coming  on  top  of  the  cowardice 
was  too  much." 

She  laughed.  "It  is  queer  that  he  should  fall  by 
this  particular  mistake;  for,  twenty-four  hours  ago,  I 
could  not  have  told  myself  that  it  was  not  smallpox  — 
no  doctor  could.  There  is  often  a  stage  where  they 
look  precisely  alike.  He  has  made  plenty  of  real 
blunders,  but  this  time  it  wasn't  one  at  all." 

"But  the  scare  was;  he  falls  righteously  by  that." 
A  shudder  betrayed  itself.  "Oh,  it  was  horrible, 
seeing  you  go  in  there,"  he  exclaimed.  "And  I  couldn't 
do  it  for  you,  I  was  utterly  helpless." 

"You  couldn't  even  send  me  upstairs,"  she  suggested 
with  a  repressed  smile.  He  laughed. 

"Please  forgive  that.  I  have  been  amazed  ever 
since  that  you  went,  though  I  admit  I  expected  it  at 
the  time." 

"You  seemed  to." 

"Oh,  Doctor,  dear!"    Mrs.  Larsen  was  balancing 

239 


DR.    ELLEN 

nervously  in  front  of  them.  "The  poor  man,  he  don't 
get  well  at  all  —  he's  suffering  something  awful.  And 
you  said,  dear,  that  you'd  come  back  — " 

"Of  course  I  will,"  said  Ellen,  laying  a  reassuring 
hand  on  the  meek  little  shoulder. 

"And,  Doctor,  would  you  take  a  look  at  my  sister?" 
broke  in  a  woman  who  had  hurried  after  them.  "  Oh, 
you're  just  fine,"  she  added.  "You're  the  doctor  for 
us." 

Any  group  that  paused  in  the  town  of  Gallop  in 
stantly  became  the  centre  of  a  crowd.  Men,  women, 
children,  and  dogs  quickly  gathered  about  Ellen; 
hands  were  offered,  shy  apologies,  hearty  assurances 
of  loyalty.  Amsden,  crowded  out,  saw  her  face  brighten 
and  soften,  her  eyes  grow  misty  with  kindness.  Yes, 
her  work  was  splendidly  worth  while;  he  had  to  ac 
knowledge  that  without  reservations.  He  had  never 
admired  her  so  deeply,  or  felt  so  far  apart  from  her. 
She  went  away  to  look  at  the  sister  without  a  word  or 
a  glance  for  him. 

The  town  seemed  suddenly  hot  and  dusty  and 
squalid,  and  he  turned  away  from  it  to  the  canon  that 
opened  like  a  giant  cleft  in  the  mountains  above, 
narrowing  until  it  looked  no  more  than  a  sharp  knife- 
thrust  between  granite  walls.  The  tumult  of  the 
creek  compressed  between  its  sides,  the  gold  of  the 
sun-touched  cliffs  and  the  cold  violet  of  the  wall  in 
shadow,  had  been  a  delight  to  him  before ;  but  now  the 
glory  had  gone  off  the  world,  his  early  morning  elation 
seemed  a  piece  of  childishness,  his  exultant  night 

240 


DR.    ELLEN 

watch  a  pompous  and  empty  proceeding.  Ellen 
obviously  had  no  real  interest  in  him. 

"  God  knows  why  she  should  have,"  he  admitted  in 
bitter  humility.  The  dense  hopelessness  that  only 
lack  of  food  and  sleep  can  give  in  its  perfection  clung 
like  a  wet  cloak  to  his  shoulders.  And  yet  he  still 
would  not  have  believed  that  he  loved  Ellen 
Chantry. 

Half  an  hour's  hard  climbing  softened  the  edges  of 
his  gloom.  He  was  beginning  to  wonder  a  little  at  the 
acuteness  of  his  recent  misery,  when,  scrambling  to 
the  top  of  a  boulder,  he  saw  something  that  for  the 
moment  made  him  forget  himself.  On  a  rock  just 
ahead  sat  Spaulding,  his  head  sunk  between  his  shoul 
ders,  his  hands  hanging  limply  over  his  knees,  his  face 
still  heavy  with  bewilderment.  The  strength  seemed 
to  have  been  stricken  from  him,  and  Amsden  felt  a 
quick  rush  of  pity,  pity  for  the  man's  blundering,  for 
his  humiliation.  The  brooding  weakness  behind  the 
rugged  face  was  suddenly  revealed  to  him.  Without 
any  very  clear  purpose,  he  came  and  seated  himself 
on  a  neighbouring  rock,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  pool 
under  his  feet.  After  a  quick  glance,  Spaulding  ignored 
him,  and  they  sat  in  silence  for  a  long  time,  a  silence 
that  seemed  to  draw  out  hostility  as  moist  earth 
draws  the  pain  from  a  sting.  At  last  Spaulding  spoke, 
without  lifting  his  eyes. 

"  They've  all  turned  agen  me  —  every  one  on  'em. 
They  was  with  me,  and  then  they  turned.  That's  all 
they're  worth."  Another  long,  healing  silence  brought 

241 


DR.    ELLEN 

them  still  closer  together.  Spaulding  drew  a  picture 
from  his  coat  pocket. 

"That  was  her,"  he  said.  The  cheap  reproduction 
had  reduced  the  childish  face  to  doll-like  blankness, 
but  the  poor  finery  of  the  little  frock  spoke  eloquently. 
Amsden  looked  at  it  with  a  quiet  sympathy  that  brought 
gruff  confidences;  the  child's  little  ways  and  sayings, 
her  devotion  to  her  father.  "And  choked  to  death!" 
he  ended  with  sudden  fierceness.  Amsden  gave  the 
picture  back,  and  let  his  hand  fall  on  the  man's  drooping 
shoulder. 

"See  here,  Ned,"  he  began,  "I  want  to  go  off  into 
the  mountains  for  a  few  days,  and  they  tell  me  that 
nobody  knows  them  as  you  do.  You  come  and  act 
as  guide  for  me.  I  want  some  real  climbing."  A 
glimmer  of  interest  lighted  Spaulding's  eyes,  though 
he  lowered  them  as  if  ashamed  of  it. 

"When  did  you  guess  you'd  start?"  he  asked  in 
differently. 

"Now."  Amsden  rose  with  contagious  energy. 
"You  tell  me  what  to  get  for  our  outfit,  and  I  will  be 
up  at  your  house  early  this  afternoon.  We  will  sleep 
in  camp  to-night.  Is  it  a  go?" 

"I  don't  mind,"  was  the  heavy  answer;  but  Spauld 
ing's  shoulders  had  straightened. 


242 


XVII 

EARLY  that  same  morning  Ruth  was  awakened  by 
sounds  from  the  next  room.  She  listened  lazily  for  a 
while,  wondering  what  Christine  could  be  doing. 
When  the  squeak  of  a  dragged  trunk  came  to  her,  she 
put  on  a  wrapper  and  went  to  investigate. 

Christine  was  half  dressed,  and  the  bed  was  piled 
high  with  clothes.  The  face  she  lifted  from  her  open 
trunk  was  curiously  set. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  Ruth  demanded. 

"I  am  going  home  to-day,"  was  the  curt  answer. 

"Well,  for  pity's  sake,  why?" 

Christine  folded  a  linen  dress  and  laid  it  in  the  trunk 
without  answering,  her  lips  tightly  compressed.  Ruth 
closed  the  door,  and  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  a 
chair,  watching  her  with  eyes  full  of  distress. 

"  Christine,  if  we  have  hurt  you  in  any  way,  or  said 
anything,  it  honestly  hasn't  been  intended,"  she  said 
gently.  "Please  don't  —  be  like  this.  I  never  dreamed 
that  you  were  offended  about  anything." 

"It  isn't  you,  Ruth."  She  tried  to  stop  there,  but 
the  inner  tumult  was  too  strong.  "It  is  just  that  I 
won't  stay  another  day  under  the  same  roof  with  your 
sister,"  she  burst  out. 

243 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Oh,  dear!  I  know  Ellen  is  — but  she  can't  help 
it,  Christine.  She  isn't  like  us,  that's  all.  Can't  you 
just  not  mind  her?" 

"Oh,  it  isn't  her  rudeness!  I  could  stand  that.  I 
could  even  overlook  her  taking  possession  of  my  private 
letters  —  yes,  she  did,  Ruth,  but  it  is  no  matter  now. 
But  I  can't  stand  seeing  what  is  going  on  here  with 
that  dreadful  Philip  Amsden  — " 

"Christine!"  Ruth  had  jumped  up,  white  and 
angry.  "What  do  you  mean!"  Christine  flung  down 
an  armful  of  clothes,  and  faced  her  desperately. 

"I  mean  that  they're  both  —  bad!  There,  now!  I 
won't  live  in  the  house  with  such  things,  and  I  don't 
think  you  ought  to,  either." 

Ruth's  colour  came  back  and  she  gave  a  relieved 
laugh.  "You're  crazy,"  she  said  calmly. 

"Very  well,  perhaps  I  am;"  and  Christine  wrapped 
a  hat  in  tissue  with  minute  care,  though  her  hands 
shook  visibly. 

"Plain  crazy,"  Ruth  repeated  with  rising  indigna 
tion.  "What  could  put  such  an  idea  into  your  head?" 

"Well,  perhaps  you  will  explain  to  me  why  they  were 
off  together  in  the  woods  half  the  night  when  we  were 
in  camp." 

"But  they  weren't!" 

"I  am  sorry,  but  they  were.  I  had  been  awake 
hours,  and  there  had  not  been  a  sound;  then  I  saw 
them  coming  back  from  somewhere  together,  she  in 
her  wrapper  with  her  hair  down.  He  held  her  hand 
and  they  whispered  —  oh,  it  made  me  simply  sick!" 

244 


DR.    ELLEN 

"You  dreamed  it,"  said  Ruth;  but  her  colour  had 
gone  again. 

"I  wish  I  had." 

"Why  didn't  you  speak  of  it?" 

"It  didn't  seem  any  of  my  business.  And  everyone 
else  seemed  to  think  them  both  so  perfect,  I  felt  I  ought 
to  give  them  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  There  might 
have  been  some  explanation,  though  I  confess  I  don't 
see  — !  But  after  last  night  —  well,  I  shan't  stay,  that 
is  all.  And  I  think  you  ought  to  come  with  me." 

"What  about  last  night?"  Ruth  asked  in  a  fright 
ened  whisper.  Christine  turned  away  from  the  be 
wildered  eyes,  and  her  voice  was  less  hard  as  she  went 
on. 

"The  shade  rattled  and  woke  me  up  very  early  — 
it  was  barely  light.  I  was  getting  up  to  fix  it  when  I 
heard  a  sound  on  the  trail.  Mr.  Amsden  was  just 
going  down.  I  saw  him  distinctly." 

The  silence  lasted  so  long  that  Christine  became 
frightened. 

"I  had  to  tell  you,  Ruth,"  she  said  uncomfortably. 

"Of  course.  And  it  is  all  some  mistake,  some  silly 
misunderstanding;"  Ruth  spoke  in  a  tired,  faint  little 
voice,  rising  to  her  feet  with  an  effort.  "Ellen  can 
explain  it.  It  is  absurd  to  think  anything  wrong  of 
those  two." 

"Well,  if  she  can  explain  all  that  away,"  began 
Christine,  vindictively. 

"Why,  of  course  she  can.  She  has  gone  out,  but  I 
will  ride  after  her  and  find  her.  You  must  wait, 

245 


DR.    ELLEN 

Christine.  You  can't  take  to-day's  stage.  It  isn't 
fair  not  to  wait  till  I  have  asked  Ellen." 

"I  don't  charge  her  with  anything,"  said  Christine, 
quickly.  "I  am  only  telling  you  what  I  have  seen." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Of  course  it  is  all  a  mistake." 
Ruth  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead  as  though  to 
clear  her  thoughts.  "  Ellen  will  tell  me  the  truth,  you 
know.  She  always  does.  Go  and  have  your  break 
fast.  I  will  find  her." 

She  looked  scarcely  able  to  dress  herself  as  she  went 
out,  but  Christine  was  afraid  to  follow  her.  She  sat 
huddled  uncertainly  among  her  things  until  she  heard 
a  horse  galloping  off  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 

The  fact  that  Ellen  had  not  taken  a  horse  showed 
that  she  had  not  gone  far.  Ruth  meant  to  ask  in  the 
village  if  anyone  had  seen  her,  but  her  heart  was  beating 
so  horribly  that  she  could  not  trust  her  voice.  She 
rode  slowly  down  the  main  street,  looking  right  and 
left  with  sick,  frightened  eyes  that  had  no  recognition 
for  acquaintances.  When  she  was  almost  at  the 
bridge  she  saw  them,  Ellen  and  Amsden.  They  had 
paused,  and  Ellen  was  looking  down  into  the  racing 
water,  but  he  was  looking  at  Ellen.  Then  they  went 
on  together,  and  the  quality  of  their  silence  fell  like  a 
garment  of  horror  about  the  girl  watching  them.  She 
saw  them  leave  the  road  and  disappear  among  the 
trees. 

Turning  her  horse,  she  rode  back  through  the  village 
quietly  enough,  though  she  put  Eve  to  a  gallop  as  soon 
as  they  were  outside.  The  mare  struggled  to  take  the 

246 


DR.    ELLEN 

home  road,  but  Ruth  struck  her  savagely  and  they 
flew  on,  anywhere,  that  she  might  get  away  from  the 
wild  anger  in  her  heart.  Rory,  standing  at  the  gate, 
saw  her  coming,  and  waved  a  welcome,  but  Ruth 
stared  at  her  unseeingly  as  she  raced  past.  The  white 
face  and  reckless  riding  brought  a  smothered  exclama 
tion  from  Rory.  She  had  a  glimpse  of  the  truth. 

"  She's  heard,  and  heard  wrong,"  she  muttered. 
" Oh,  if  I  had  my  arm,  now!"  The  black  horse  whin 
nied  suggestively  to  her  over  the  bars  of  the  corral. 
Rory  stood  biting  her  lower  lip,  her  eyes  on  her  band 
aged  arm;  then  she  brought  a  bridle  and  slipped  it 
over  his  head.  "You  ride  better  than  you  drive  — 
or,  at  least,  not  much  worse,"  she  muttered.  "I've 
got  to  look  after  that  child." 

She  managed  to  saddle  with  one  hand,  and  rode  out 
bare-headed,  avoiding  the  house  and  her  mother.  As 
the  horse  broke  into  an  eager  canter,  she  dropped  the 
reins  about  the  pommel  and  clutched  her  left  forearm. 

"It  don't  hurt  much,"  she  gasped. 

Ruth  galloped  on  until  Eve  was  streaked  with  foam, 
and  the  wild  confusion  in  her  heart  died  down,  leaving 
the  place  of  her  deepest  wound  uncovered  to  her  deso 
late  eyes.  When  at  last  she  let  the  horse  settle  to  a 
tired  walk,  it  was  not  Amsden  who  held  her  thoughts, 
nor  her  own  hopes  and  desires.  Her  faith  in  Ellen 
had  been  the  big,  sound  centre  of  her  life,  the  star  by 
which  she  knew  infallibly  where  the  right  course  lay. 
She  had  fought  her  sister,  resented  her,  at  times  almost 
hated  her;  but  she  had  believed  in  her  as  she  had  never 

247 


DR.    ELLEN 

believed  in  God  or  creed.  And  now  it  was  as  though 
the  stars  themselves  had  fallen.  She  was  lost  in  the 
dark:  there  was  no  right  and  no  wrong,  and  no  human 
faith  was  justified  if  Ellen  was  not  true  to  herself. 

"I  can't  bear  it,  I  can't!"  she  cried  at  last,  pressing 
her  hands  to  her  temples.  And  then  she  wondered 
with  sick  iteration  what  people  did  when  they  could 
not  bear  it.  Perhaps  they  died  ?  The  idea  brought  a 
cool  breath  of  relief.  There  was  nothing  to  stay  for, 
now,  and  to  her  passionate  impatience  of  suffering 
another  day  such  as  this  was  the  unbearable  ordeal, 
not  dark,  quiet  death.  And  it  would  hurt  them,  these 
two  who  had  been  cheating  her:  there  was  grim  satis 
faction  in  that  thought.  For  the  first  time  she  looked 
to  see  where  she  was. 

The  shadow  of  a  granite  cliff  lay  over  the  road. 
Below,  through  a  fringe  of  willows,  shone  the  pale  face 
of  a  tiny  mountain  lake,  a  pond  in  width,  though  no 
line  had  ever  fathomed  its  secret  depths.  Ruth  dis 
mounted,  leaving  the  horse  free,  and,  climbing  down 
the  steep  bank,  parted  the  band  of  low  bushes  that 
hedged  the  pool.  They  sprang  together  behind  her 
like  a  door  closing  on  a  hateful  street,  and  the  cool 
room  that  received  her  was  redolent  of  peace  and 
secrecy.  Its  silver  floor  was  so  narrow  that  the  crowded 
willows  kept  it  in  shadow:  at  their  feet  about  the  rim 
ran  a  border  of  late  flowers,  doubled  in  the  rippleless 
surface.  Ruth  knelt  at  the  margin  and  dipped  one 
hand  into  the  water;  its  tingling  cold  had  a  welcome 
purity.  She  had  not  committed  herself  to  any  inten- 

248 


DR.    ELLEN 

tion,  yet  some  vague  thought  of  a  prayer  crossed  her 
mind.  She  tried  to  remember  one,  but  the  haunting 
words  of  the  old  darky  song  crowded  it  out.  She 
crooned  them  under  her  breath: 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  like  a  motherless  chile, 
Feel  like  a  motherless  chi  —  le, 
Feel  like  a  motherless  chile  — " 

After  all,  why  say  prayers?  If  there  was  no  Ellen, 
there  was  assuredly  no  God.  The  smothering  trouble 
dragged  its  weight  over  her,  crushing  out  the  momentary 
peace.  No,  she  could  not  bear  it.  And  there  was 
nothing  left  in  life.  She  dipped  her  hands  to  the 
wrists  in  the  welcome  cold. 

"Hello,  Ruth,"  said  a  commonplace  voice.  Rory's 
face,  oddly  white  and  lined,  was  looking  casually  over 
the  thicket.  "Nice  spot  for  a  picnic.  Wait  till  I 
come  in  there,  now."  She  worked  her  way  through 
the  bushes,  emerging  with  a  set  smile  on  her  grim 
little  face.  "I  saw  you  ride  by,  and  I  couldn't  resist  a 
ride  myself,  so  I  came  along,"  she  explained. 

Ruth,  sinking  back  on  her  heels,  looked  at  her  re 
motely,  conscious  only  of  a  vague  shame  at  being 
caught.  But  Rory  seemed  to  suspect  nothing.  She 
seated  herself  on  the  ground,  talking  cheerfully  of  un 
important  matters  that  required  no  answers. 

"You  didn't  fasten  the  mare  very  good,"  she  threw 
in.  "You'd  have  had  a  good  walk  home  if  I  hadn't 
come  along.  And  Dr.  Ellen  has  trouble  enough  on 
her  hands  without  you  doing  yourself  up."  Ruth  had 

249 


DR.    ELLEN 

winced  and  turned  her  head  away  at  Ellen's  name. 
Sure  now  of  her  attention,  Rory  plunged  in:  "Did 
she  tell  you  the  low  trick  some  of  the  boys  played  on 
her  that  first  night  up  in  camp?"  Ruth  shrank  away 
with  a  tense  shake  of  her  head,  and  Rory,  tossing 
pebbles  into  the  pond,  went  on  with  the  tale  of  the 
dummy  child  and  the  moonlight  burial.  "Mr.  Ams- 
den  dug  the  grave  for  it  with  the  potato  shovel  —  I 
wondered  what  had  come  over  it  the  next  day,"  she 
concluded.  "Wasn't  that  the  mean  trick,  though!" 
It  was  hard  to  meet  unmoved  the  face  Ruth  turned  to 
her  —  so  tremulous  and  eager,  so  pitifully  afraid  of 
hope. 

"They  went  off  —  to  bury  the  thing?"  she  stam 
mered. 

"Sure.     Nice  job  it  must  have  been." 

"But  where  was  Mr.  Amsden  last  night?  Why  was 
he — ?"  Ruth  cared  nothing  for  appearances,  but 
Rory  doggedly  kept  them  up. 

"  Oh,  he  slep'  out  doors  —  you'd  believe  it  if  you  saw 
his  blankets,  one  mass  of  pine  needles,"  she  grumbled. 
"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was  afraid  Spaulding  or 
Pocock  would  play  some  fresh  trick  on  you,  and  just 
slep'  up  there  near  the  cabin  to  be  on  hand  in  case  of 
trouble.  I  must  say  'twould  be  like  him:  he's  real 
kind.  My,  that  lecture's  made  a  stir.  I'm  that 
mad  I  didn't  get  to  it.  Mama  went,  but  my  old 
arm—" 

Ruth  had  flung  herself  face  down  on  the  ground, 
and  was  sobbing  with  a  violence  that  racked  her  from 

250 


DR.    ELLEN 

head  to  foot.  After  a  few  moments  Rory  grew  fright 
ened  and  drew  the  helpless  figure  up  against  her  hard 
little  breast. 

"  There,  now,  child,  don't  you,  now,"  she  muttered. 
"It's  all  right.  You've  heard  some  fool  talk,  I'll  be 
bound,  but  you  mustn't  mind  that.  There's  no  end 
to  the  foul  tongues,  but  they  can't  touch  a  woman  like 
Dr.  Ellen.  Steady,  now  —  child,  you'll  founder  your 
self  if  you  don't  pull  up!" 

Ruth  gradually  grew  quiet,  and  presently  lay  still 
but  for  the  involuntary  shudders  left  by  the  storm  of 
tears.  The  look  of  pain  deepened  about  Rory's  mouth, 
and  once  or  twice  her  eyes  closed  with  a  suggestion  of 
faintness,  but  she  did  not  stir  until  Ruth  slowly  dragged 
herself  up  and  stooped  to  bathe  her  face. 

"Oh,  Rory,"  she  said  brokenly,  "I  shan't  mind  any 
thing  now,  not  even  if  he  cares  for  her.  Do  you  think 
he  does?" 

"No  such  luck,"  was  the  sharp  answer.  "You'll 
not  catch  a  man  caring  for  a  fine  woman  like  that  so 
long  as  there's  fools  left  free.  Come  on,  now:  we've  a 
good  twelve  miles  to  go,  and  my  arm  don't  feel  any  too 
good." 

"You  oughtn't  to  be  riding  yet,"  said  Ruth,  absently. 

"I  dare  say  you're  right,"  Rory  conceded. 

Long  before  the  ride  was  done,  all  traces  of  the 
storm  had  left  Ruth's  sky:  she  sat  her  saddle  in  smiling 
peace,  Ellen  and  righteousness  restored  to  their  places, 
and  all  things  well  with  the  world.  Her  head  ached, 
but  she  was  too  happy  to  care.  Rory,  who  had  grown 

251 


DR.    ELLEN 

very  unresponsive,  pulled  up  at  her  gate  with  a  sup 
pressed  sigh  of  relief. 

"Will  you  ask  Dr.  Ellen  to  drop  in  and  look  me 
over?"  she  said,  dismounting  with  weary  caution. 

"You  should  not  have  ridden  —  but  I  am  awfully 
glad  you  did;"  and  Ruth,  stooping  from  the  saddle, 
kissed  the  small  brown  face. 

"Oh,  go  'long!"  muttered  Rory,  turning  away. 

It  was  long  past  lunch  time,  but,  as  Ellen  had  not 
been  home,  Ruth  called  up  her  office  and  found  her 
there.  Oh,  that  warm,  true,  strong  voice!  Surely 
she  could  never  again  be  hateful  to  Ellen.  Tears  came 
back  to  her  eyes  as  she  gave  Rory's  message. 

"Riding,  was  she?  Well,  she  deserves  it,"  com 
mented  Ellen.  "I  shall  tell  her  so." 

"Aren't  you  coming  home  for  lunch  ?"  Ruth's  voice 
was  warm  and  sweet,  and  Ellen  responded  gratefully. 

"I  am  too  busy,  dear.  Miss  Gowdy  gave  me  some. 
Have  you  had  a  nice  morning?"  Ruth  laughed  a 
little,  but  did  not  answer. 

"Well,  good-by,"  she  said. 

She  started  to  find  Christine,  but  was  checked  by 
the  sight  of  a  note  addressed  to  her  on  the  table.  It 
was  from  Amsden,  and  merely  said  that  he  had  gone 
off  for  a  few  days  in  the  mountains  with  Spaulding  as 
guide:  he  was  sorry  not  to  see  her  before  starting. 
Ruth  read  it  with  a  sense  of  relief.  She  did  not  want 
to  feel  anything  more  now  —  just  to  be  peaceful  and 
quiet  and  thankful  that  the  world  was  good  and 
true. 

252 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Well?"  said  Christine's  voice  from  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

"Oh,  Christine,  we  are  two  silly  idiots,"  said  Ruth. 
"You  don't  need  to  leave  this  house,  my  dear.  But, 
for  pity's  sake,  get  me  something  to  eat!" 

While  she  was  telling  her  tale  to  a  very  much  sub 
dued  Christine,  Ellen  was  making  an  indignant  exam 
ination  of  Rory's  arm.  It  was  not  injured,  though  the 
pain  was  great,  and  was  likely  to  last  some  time.  She 
relieved  her  mind  with  a  severe  lecture,  which  the  girl 
accepted  with  abject  meekness,  though  there  was 
suppressed  humour  in  the  twist  of  her  mouth. 

"I'm  a  bad  lot.  There's  no  trusting  me,"  she 
assented.  "A  horse  has  just  got  to  put  his  nose  over 
the  bars  and  off  I  go,  arm  or  no  arm.  You'd  best  turn 
me  over  to  Pocock;  I'm  not  worth  your  time  and 
trouble." 

"I  certainly  should,  only  I  have  a  feeling  that  he  is 
preparing  to  leave  town.  Really,  Rory,  I  have  always 
supposed  you  had  sense:  I  can't  understand  your  being 
such  a  little  fool." 

"I  know.  I'm  like  that  —  plain  unreliable;"  and 
Rory  shook  her  head  over  her  own  depravity.  Ellen 
eyed  her  suspiciously. 

"Rory  Dorn,  you  are  too  meek  to  be  natural,"  she 
exclaimed.  "There  is  something  in  this  that  I  don't 
understand.  Why  don't  you  tell  me  the  whole  truth?" 

"But  haven't  I  told  you  just  what  happened ?  Ruth 
rides  by,  and  says  I,  'I'll  join  her,'  so  I  go  galloping 
after;  and  we  come  home  together.  She'd  not  tell  you 

253 


DR.    ELLEN 

any  different."  Ellen  was  not  satisfied,  but  she  gave 
it  up. 

"You  are  an  inscrutable  young  person,"  she  com 
mented.  "I  will  give  you  something  to  make  you 
sleep  to-night,  though  you  deserve  to  lie  awake  think 
ing  of  your  own  folly.  At  least,  I  think  you  do,"  she 
amended  gravely.  Rory's  eyes  fell  before  hers. 

"Sure  —  you're  right  there,"  she  affirmed. 


254 


XVIII 

"  SATURDAY,  Sunday,  Monday,  Tuesday,  Wednesday, 
Thursday,  —  I  think  Mr.  Amsden  must  have  fallen 
down  a  cliff  or  something,"  said  Christine,  dropping 
her  book  over  the  side  of  the  hammock,  and  yawning 
behind  a  clenched  fist. 

44  More  likely  Spaulding  has  pushed  him  over,"  com 
mented  Wallace  from  the  bearskin  close  beside  her, 
where  he  was  stretched  full  length.  "What  did  he 
say  in  his  note,  Ruth?" 

Ruth,  who  was  staring  down  the  wind-swept  valley, 
bleak  and  forbidding  under  a  muffled  sky,  did  not 
turn  her  head  from  the  window. 

"Nothing  much,"  she  answered  listlessly;  "just  that 
he  was  going  off  for  a  few  days'  mountaineering  with 
Spaulding." 

"Pretty  mean  of  him,  our  last  week  up  here,"  Wal 
lace  said,  his  eyes  following  the  path  of  Christine's 
slipper  as  he  swung  her  gently  by  the  fringe  of  the 
hammock.  "Shall  we  go  off  to-morrow  without  him 
if  he  doesn't  show  up?" 

"We  must,"  said  Christine,  "Our  rooms  are  all 
engaged  at  Del  Monte."  She  let  her  hand  drop  over 

255 


DR.    ELLEN 

the  side  of  the  hammock,  where  it  swung  just  above 
Wallace's  eyes. 

"And  I  have  to  get  to  work,"  he  added.  The  ham 
mock  had  come  to  an  abrupt  stop. 

"Ruth,  Willie  is  holding  my  hand,"  complained 
Christine,  presently.  Ruth  turned  towards  them  with 
an  effort  at  brightness. 

"Good  for  him,"  she  said.  "I  wish  someone  would 
hold  mine." 

"Come  on;  I've  got  another  hand,"  offered  Wallace 
amiably,  moving  over  to  make  more  room  on  the 
bearskin.  She  came  and  sat  down  beside  him.  There 
was  kindly  understanding  in  his  gentleness  as  he  put 
his  arm  about  her.  Ruth's  spirits  responded  at  once. 

"There  are  times,"  she  said  demurely,  "when  that 
feels  very  good  —  from  most  anyone." 

"I  like  that!"  objected  Wallace. 

"I  don't  think  she  is  a  nice  girl,"  said  Christine, 
primly,  drawing  away  her  hand.  "I  don't  think  we'd 
better  take  her  back  with  us;  do  you?"  She  had 
lowered  her  voice,  and  they  all  glanced  towards  the 
doors. 

"Have  you  broken  it  to  Ellen  yet?"  Wallace  asked. 
Ruth  shook  her  head. 

"I  have  been  feeling  so  done  up  these  last  few  days. 
There  was  no  sense  in  bringing  it  up  until  I  was  sure  I 
could  go." 

"Oh,  the  change  will  do  you  good,"  Christine  urged. 
"You  can't  go  back  on  that  embroidered  blue  linen." 

"I  wish  I  didn't  feel  mean  about  it,"  sighed  Ruth. 
256 


DR.    ELLEN 

"You  have  the  silliest  conscience  I  ever  knew!" 
Christine  was  indignant.  "You  wouldn't  expect  her 
to  sacrifice  every  minute  of  her  life  to  little  sister's 
hobby,  would  you?  Very  well,  then!  I  declare,  it  is 
partly  your  fault  she's  such  a  tyrant,  you're  so  ever 
lastingly  scrupulous  and  polite.  Honestly,  I  don't 
believe  she  has  half  known  how  you  felt."  Ruth 
laughed. 

"Don't  scold  me.  I  am  not  really  scrupulous,  I 
only  talk  so.  I  may  hate  my  sins,  but  I  go  right  on 
committing  them." 

"And  that  is  what  makes  you  endurable,"  added 
Christine,  at  which  they  all  laughed.  "Ugh,  isn't  it  a 
nasty  day,"  she  added,  as  a  fiercer  gust  shook  the 
cabin,  and  left  the  windows  chattering. 

Wallace  sat  up  with  sudden  energy. 

"I  don't  believe  it  is  half  so  bad  outside  as  it  is  in 
here  listening  to  it,"  he  declared.  "Come  on,  reef 
yourselves  as  tight  as  you  can  and  we'll  take  a  walk." 

"Oh,  no,"  moaned  Christine. 

"Oh,  come  on.  Don't  you  want  an  appetite  for 
your  last  supper?  Leaving  Ying  is  no  joke,  for  me." 

"And  we  thought  it  was  us  that  kept  you!" 

"Well,  you  thought  wrong.  Jump  up,  now,  let's  be 
strenuous."  He  tipped  Christine  out  of  the  hammock 
with  little  ceremony,  and  presently  they  went  off  to 
gether,  not  visibly  downcast  at  Ruth's  refusal  to  join 
them. 

She,  left  alone,  curled  down  on  the  bearskin  and 
presently  fell  asleep.  When  she  awoke,  an  hour  later, 

257 


DR.    ELLEN 

Ellen  was  sitting  near,  looking  at  her  with  such  troubled 
eyes  that  Ruth  felt  a  clutch  of  fright  for  what  she  might 
have  said  or  shown  in  her  sleep. 

"What  are  you  staring  at  me  for?"  she  asked  re 
sentfully,  sitting  up. 

Ellen  spoke  impulsively.  "Oh,  Ruth,  I  shall  be 
glad  when  these  people  are  gone." 

"Well,  I  shan't,"  was  the  curt  answer.  "I  think  it 
is  rather  unkind  of  you  to  grudge  me  the  little  fun  I  can 
get."  She  was  twisting  up  her  hair,  with  face  averted. 
Ellen  rose  and  turned  to  the  door;  then  she  came  slowly 
back. 

"I  wish  we  could  be  better  friends,  Ruth,"  she  said 
in  a  low  voice.  "You  are  all  I  have  in  the  world,  but 
I  can't  seem  to  —  I  am  stupid,  I  say  things  that  hurt 
and  offend  you,  without  in  the  least  knowing  why. 
We  are  both  lonely.  If  you  would  only  let  me  — 
love  you." 

Ruth's  head  had  sunk  till  her  face  was  wholly  hidden. 

"I  suppose  —  it's  this  abnormal  life,"  she  said  with 
difficulty,  after  a  pause.  "I  am  not  happy,  and  so  — 
I  take  it  out  on  you.  I  can't  help  it.  I  can't.  I  do 
hate  it  so!"  She  was  crying,  but  the  look  on  Ellen's 
face  was  sadder  than  tears. 

"You  didn't  hate  it  the  first  two  years;  at  least,  you 
seemed  fairly  contented,"  she  urged.  "It  is  only  since 
this  spring  that  you  have  been  so  restless.  Don't  you 
think  you  could  —  get  interested  in  something — " 

"No,  I  don't!"  Ruth  jumped  up  fiercely.  "And  I 
think  you  are  mean,  mean,  to  keep  me  here!"  She 


DR.    ELLEN 

ran  up  the  stairs  and  the  door  slammed  after  her. 
Ellen  pressed  her  palms  to  her  temples,  then  let  her 
hands  drop. 

"The  minute  they  are  gone,  I  shall  tell  her,"  she 
said  aloud. 

Ying's  supper  was  half  cold  when  Christine  and 
Wallace  came  back,  the  former  very  full  of  laughter, 
very  mischievous  and  important,  the  latter  one  broad, 
sheepish  grin.  They  took  their  places  and  tried  to 
talk  as  usual,  but  even  Ying,  waiting  on  them,  had  his 
suspicions  aroused.  He  chuckled  softly  as  he  went 
out,  then  thrust  back  his  bony  yellow  face  through  the 
narrowest  possible  opening  of  the  door. 

"Miss  Clistine,  I  guess  she  catch  'im  husband,"  he 
confided  in  a  falsetto  whisper,  and  vanished.  Wal 
lace's  roar  of  laughter  was  a  confession  in  itself;  also 
an  irresistible  example.  They  all  shouted.  Their 
congratulations  were  offered  with  wet  eyes  and  helpless 
relapses. 

"We  were  going  to  keep  it  a  dead  secret,"  Wallace 
confessed.  "I  guess  we'd  better  give  up  that  idea, 
Christine.  Won't  old  Amsden  be  surprised!" 

"Rory  won't,"  said  Ruth,  sagely. 

"Good  little  Rory  —  let's  all  go  down  after  supper 
and  tell  her,"  suggested  Wallace.  Christine  looked 
dubious. 

"She's  such  a  cross  little  thing  —  you  can  tell  her 
by  yourself.  I've  worn  myself  out  going  down  there, 
and  she  isn't  a  bit  appreciative." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  is,  only  she's  shy,"  said  Wallace,  con- 
259 


DR.    ELLEN 

fidently.  "Isn't  there  someone  else  we  can  tell?  I 
think  it's  fun." 

"Tell  what?"  asked  a  voice  from  the  other  end  of 
the  room.  The  porch  door  swung  back,  and  Amsden, 
sunburned  and  wideawake,  stood  smiling  on  them. 
His  eyes  went  straight  to  Ellen;  then  the  others,  jump 
ing  up,  surrounded  him  with  joyous  welcome,  and 
brought  him  back  to  the  table  with  a  deluge  of  ques 
tions.  He  held  Ellen's  hand  for  an  instant,  and 
dropped  into  his  chair  with  the  satisfaction  of  one  who 
returns  home. 

"Tell  what?"  he  insisted. 

Wallace  laid  one  hand  on  Christine's  shoulder,  and 
thrust  the  other  into  his  coat,  the  standard  bride-and- 
groom  grouping  of  the  Gallop  photographer.  "This," 
he  explained. 

Amsden  looked  disappointed.  "  Is  that  all  ?  I  could 
have  told  you  about  that  before  I  left."  The  two 
were  indignant. 

"Did  you  hear  that!"  exclaimed  Wallace.  "Isn't 
he  the  patronizing  — !  Man,  it  hadn't  happened 
then." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  had.  You  were  a  little  slow  about 
knowing  it,  that  was  all." 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to  give  us  the 
correct  date?  It  may  be  needed  for  our  biographies." 

"Let  me  see:  I  should  say  it  was  the  night  Miss 
O'Hara  set  the  table  in  a  blue-checked  apron." 

"You  ought  to  have  told  us,"  said  Christine.  "We 
have  lost  several  weeks.  Just  when  did  you  give  us 

260 


DR.    ELLEN 

your  best  wishes?"    He  laughed  and  rose  to  shake 
hands  with  them. 

"You've  had  them  all  along,"  he  said;  "only  I  have 
forgotten  my  manners,  living  in  the  wilderness  with 
Spaulding." 

"Tell  us  about  it,"  urged  Ruth,  whose  face  had  lifted 
like  a  flower  put  into  water  during  the  past  few  minutes. 

"It  was  great  —  great,"  said  Amsden,  but  he  seemed 
reluctant  to  talk  on  the  subject.  They  got  little  out  of 
him. 

Presently  Christine  and  Wallace  drifted  off  to  the 
other  end  of  the  long  room.  Amsden  begged  for  more 
coffee,  and  when  Ruth  had  gone  to  get  it,  he  turned 
quickly  to  Ellen. 

"Spaulding  won't  give  you  any  more  trouble.  We 
have  had  it  all  out,  and  he  understands  now.  The 
climbing  rather  cleared  and  steadied  him,  and  he  is 
sorry.  He  asked  me  to  tell  you  so." 

"It  was  good  of  you  —  it  was  fine.  I  shall  never 
forget  it."  Her  voice  was  warm  and  quick. 

"I  can't  go  away  to-morrow  without  a  talk  with 
you,"  he  went  on.  "There  will  be  no  chance  to-night. 
Can't  you  manage  it  —  meet  me  somewhere  in  the 
morning?  Am  I  asking  too  much?" 

Her  eyes  fell.  "I  think  perhaps  we  had  better  not. 
It  will  only  make  things  harder." 

"Nothing  is  so  hard  as  not  knowing.  I  must  see 
you,  Ellen."  Ruth's  step  was  heard. 

"I  shall  be  at  the  post-office  at  eight,"  Ellen  said, 
rising  and  turning  away. 

261 


DR.    ELLEN 

Amsden  did  not  stay  long.  He  was  tired,  and  had 
to  get  his  things  together. 

"But  I  shall  not  say  'Good-by'  to-night,"  he  told 
Ruth.  "The  stage  doesn't  start  until  half-past  nine, 
so  I  will  be  up  again.  Or  will  you  see  us  off?"  She 
smiled,  with  a  quick  glance  at  Christine. 

"Oh,  I  shall  see  you,"  she  assured  him. 

At  the  cottage  he  was  greeted  with  thanksgiving  by 
Mrs.  Dorn,  who  had  daily  prophesied  a  broken  neck 
for  him,  and  with  a  sardonic  grin  from  Rory. 

"If  you've  no  bones  broke,  you  can  thank  my 
mother,"  she  assured  him  when  he  had  asked  about 
her  arm.  "She's  not  done  a  stroke  of  work  —  just 
sat  at  the  window  and  concentrated  on  you.  I  haven't 
had  a  square  meal." 

"You  do  look  thin,"  Amsden  assented. 

"Thin!  There  isn't  a  pick  on  me;  you  could  blow 
me  off  your  hand." 

"  Oh,  Rory,  be  still.  How  you  do  go  on,"  grumbled 
Mrs.  Dorn,  retreating  to  fill  Amsden's  pitcher.  He 
seated  himself  on  a  corner  of  the  kitchen  table. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  news  about  your  other  lodger  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"I  can  guess  it."  Rory's  mouth  drew  down  ex 
pressively.  "If  Mama  could  have  put  her  attention 
on  him,  now!  'Twould  have  saved  him  worse  than  a 
cracked  bone  or  two." 

"Miss  O'Hara  is  an  easy-going  sort  of  girl,"  he 
argued.  "She  will  be  pleasant  about  the  house." 

"A  fool's  a  fool.  He'll  not  get  any  congratulations 
262 


DR.    ELLEN 

here.  Do  you  wonder  I've  no  use  for  the  men,  when 
they  have  so  little  sense?  And  Dr.  Ellen  there  in 
plain  sight!" 

He  laughed.  "Rory,  you  are  too  good  to  spend 
your  life  in  Gallop.  What  would  you  like  to  do? 
Perhaps  I  could  help  you."  She  wagged  a  negative. 

"Naw,  naw!  If  you're  not  after  the  men,  one  place 
is  as  good  as  another.  So  long  as  there's  horses  to 
handle,  it's  good  enough  for  me.  If  they  gave  out  — " 

He  wrote  his  address  on  a  slip  of  paper.  "If  they 
give  out,  there  I  am,"  he  said.  "I  am  going  to  keep 
an  eye  out  for  you,  anyway.  Good-night." 

"You're  real  kind,"  Rory  admitted. 


263 


XIX 

THOSE  days  in  the  mountains  had  been  the  most 
wonderful  experience  of  Amsden's  life.  Spaulding  had 
led  him  up  and  up,  beyond  the  forests,  beyond  the 
living  earth,  into  a  strange,  bleak  world  of  granite 
domes  and  turrets  and  spires  where  the  wind  came 
down  from  snows  that  never  melted,  and  the  blue  of 
the  noon  sky  had  the  dark  of  night  against  the  white 
glare  of  the  naked  precipices.  They  had  climbed  and 
slid  and  jumped  chasms  and  struggled  up  sharp  pin 
nacles  of  rock  and  stood  clinging  against  the  wind  to 
stare  down  a  frozen  sea  of  peaks,  vast  upheavals  seem 
ingly  stricken  to  immobility  in  the  moment  of  their 
wildest  tumult.  To  come  down  out  of  this  blinding 
savagery  to  the  green  grass  of  meadows  and  the  fa 
miliar  trunks  of  pines  was  to  exchange  awe  for  exhilara 
tion.  The  thrust  of  Amsden's  hands  into  his  pockets 
was  equivalent  to  another  man's  shout. 

Through  every  hour  of  the  way  Ellen  had  been 
beside  him,  like  a  living  presence  against  his  arm. 
Her  sure  step  echoed  his  on  the  cliffs;  the  splendours 
of  dawn  and  sunset  were  for  them  both  together;  the 
firelight  brought  her  serene  face  out  of  the  shadows. 
He  now  knew  what  it  was,  this  amazing  experience 

264 


DR.    ELLEN 

that  had  caught  him  out  of  his  shell  and  overturned  his 
neat  scale  of  values,  giving  him  the  deep  breath  of  a 
living  man.  And  he  used  to  believe  that  the  power  of 
love  was  a  thing  vastly  exaggerated.  He  remembered 
how  he  had  lain  in  the  hollow  on  Lone  Cedar  coolly 
considering  whether  Ruth  might  not  "do,"  and  a 
flush  of  shame  swept  through  him. 

"What  an  ass  I  was,  what  a  blind  prig!"  he  muttered. 
"Ellen,  Ellen!"  The  word  seemed  to  be  in  every 
sound,  every  bird  note  and  ripple  of  water  and  stir  of 
wind;  his  feet  walked  to  it  in  rhythmic  repetition;  he 
said  it  aloud  after  Spaulding  was  asleep,  and  it  sent  a 
pang  through  him  like  the  humming  of  a  plucked 
string.  He  had  no  plans,  and  he  did  not  once  despair. 
He  was  still  absorbed  in  his  wonder  at  the  miracle. 

The  first  day  or  two  they  talked  little,  though  the 
friendliness  between  them  grew  to  friendship  as  they 
learned  to  respect  each  other's  cheerful  acceptance  of 
hardship.  Amsden  did  not  for  a  moment  lose  sight 
of  his  purpose  in  coming,  but  bided  his  time.  It 
was  not  until  they  crossed  the  timber  line  again  that 
Spaulding  returned  to  his  grievance. 

Amsden,  his  back  against  a  log  and  his  feet  to  the 
camp-fire,  let  him  say  every  bitter  word  that  was  in 
his  mind;  then  he  turned  on  him  and  told  him,  without 
temper  or  palliation,  what  a  wrong-headed  part  he  had 
been  playing.  Spaulding  grew  sullen  and  left  him, 
building  his  own  fire  half  a  mile  away,  but  in  the  morn 
ing  he  was  back.  After  the  long,  healing  day  he  re 
turned  to  the  charge,  but  feebly,  with  evident  effort. 

265 


DR.    ELLEN 

Amsden  met  him  inflexibly,  and  again  the  man  went 
off;  but,  an  hour  or  two  later,  Amsden  was  awakened 
by  a  touch  on  his  arm.  The  firelight,  falling  on  the 
sharp  black  and  white  of  Spaulding's  face,  showed  it 
cleared  of  its  gloomy  hostility. 

"I  guess  I  ben  a  fool,"  he  said.  "Tell  her  so,  will 
you?"  Amsden  grasped  his  hand  with  a  satisfaction 
amazing  in  its  intensity.  Long  after  the  other  was 
asleep  he  lay  with  his  head  on  his  arm,  staring  into  the 
embers,  rejoicing  that  this  man  had  worked  out  his 
freedom. 

"I  wonder  if  Gilfillan  feels  like  this  all  the  time?" 
was  his  startled  thought  as  he  settled  down  to  sleep. 
Then  he  reached  out  his  hand  in  the  dark,  and  his 
fingers  closed  as  though  on  another  hand.  "But  I  did 
it  —  my  part  of  it  —  for  Ned,  not  for  you,  beloved," 
he  whispered. 

The  morning  after  his  return  the  thought  that  he  was 
to  meet  Ellen  put  off  realization  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
to  leave  her.  He  started  up,  but  felt  a  shock  of  appre 
hension  at  sight  of  a  note  thrust  under  his  door.  Be 
fore  he  opened  it  he  knew  it  meant  that  he  should  not 
see  her. 

The  note  was  as  bald  as  a  telegram,  and  merely 
stated  that  she  had  been  called  to  a  case  fifteen  miles 
away,  and  might  not  be  back  for  several  days.  "So  I 
shall  not  see  you  again,"  it  ended.  A  refusal  to  meet 
him  might  have  meant  something;  but  this  was  as  im 
penetrable  as  a  blind  wall.  He  flung  himself  down, 

266 


DR.    ELLEN 

sick  at  heart,  and  did  not  stir  until  Wallace  shouted  to 
him  that  he  would  be  late.  When  he  came  out,  he 
found  a  stack  of  luggage  in  the  hall. 

"You  ought  to  have  seen  me  coming  down  the  trail 
with  those  bags  last  night;  heard  me,  rather,"  laughed 
Wallace.  "We  had  to  sneak  them  out  without  Ying's 
seeing." 

"But why?"  asked  Amsden,  listlessly, leaning  against 
the  wall  to  watch  Wallace's  neat  packing. 

"For  fear  he'd  suspect.  Oh,  don't  you  know  that 
Ruth  is  going  with  us?" 

"Why didn't  she  speak  of  it  last  night,  then?" 

"Well,  she  hadn't  had  it  out  with  Ellen.  She  was 
just  going  to,  after  you  left,  when  a  cart  came  up  and 
scurried  Ellen  away  —  I  guess  it's  a  baby.  You  got 
her  note?" 

"Yes."  Amsden  was  frowning.  "And  so  Ruth  is 
going  without  telling  her  ?  " 

"Had  to.  She  will  send  back  a  note,  of  course. 
Ying  would  raise  the  deuce,  she  says,  so  we  are  going 
to  put  these  bags  on  here  at  the  gate,  to  avoid  questions. 
He's  a  keen  old  boy.  Guess  we'd  better  go  down  to 
breakfast;  it's  late." 

Amsden  followed  downstairs  in  worried  silence.  "I 
don't  think  Ruth  ought  to  do  it,"  he  said  abruptly, 
when  Mrs.  Dorn  had  served  them  and  left  the  room. 
"It  isn't  treating  Mrs.  Roderick  fairly.  She  ought  to 
have  had  it  out,  and  then  gone  openly.  I  have  half  a 
mind  to  go  up  and  tell  her  so." 

"Well,  you're  too  late,"  was  the  placid  answer. 
267 


DR.    ELLEN 

"They  were  afraid  Ellen  might  get  back  this  morning 
and  meet  the  stage  —  'twould  have  been  awkward ! 
So  little  sister  and  Christine  lit  out  early  by  the  Lone 
Cedar  trail.  They  will  hit  the  stage  about  three  miles 
from  here  —  Ellen's  road  branches  off  before  that. 
Great  scheme,  wasn't  it?"  Amsden  made  no  answer. 
"I  don't  see  why  you're  so  grumpy  about  it,"  com 
mented  Wallace. 

"Well,  look  here.  We  have  been  Mrs.  Roderick's 
guests  for  a  month  —  it  is  all  hers.  We  know  she 
doesn't  wish  her  sister  to  leave  her,  and  the  minute  her 
back  is  turned,  we  entice  Ruth  to  run  away.  She 
ought  at  least  to  have  had  a  chance  to  express  her 
mind.  I  think  it  is  discourteous  and  abominable.  I 
won't  stand  for  it." 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"Stay  here  till  she  comes  back,  and  explain." 

"But  you  said  this  was  the  last  day  you  could  pos 
sibly—" 

"This  is  more  important  than  work." 

Wallace  peevishly  sawed  at  the  Dorn  beefsteak. 
"You've  gone  cracked,  living  with  Spaulding.  How 
you  can  stay  to  make  speeches  to  Ellen,  when  you 
might  be  playing  with  Ruth  — !" 

Amsden  spoke  sharply:  "I  am  not  going  to  be  rude 
to  the  finest  woman  I  have  ever  known!"  Wallace's 
look  grew  to  a  stare;  then  he  slowly  laid  down  his 
knife  and  fork. 

"Are  you  in  love  with  Ellen  Chantry  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,"  was  the  curt  answer. 
268 


DR.    ELLEN 

"Do  you  mean  you  want  to  marry  her?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  it!" 

"Very  well,  don't." 

Wallace  took  up  his  fork  again,  then  laid  it  down. 
"Does  Ruth  know  it?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  I  want  her  to."  Wallace  re 
lapsed  into  gloomy  silence,  which  lasted  until  nearly 
time  for  the  stage.  Then  he  heaved  himself  up  with 
a  sigh. 

"Well,  I  guess  you'd  better  stay,  then,"  he  said. 
" But  it  beats  me!  What  shall  I  tell  the  girls?" 

"Why  not  the  truth?" 

"H'm.  Nice  job  you've  given  me,"  Wallace  mut 
tered. 

The  first  day  of  his  waiting  did  not  seem  long  to 
Amsden,  for  a  pile  of  letters  demanded  his  attention, 
and  he  was  tired  enough  to  find  sitting  still  a  relief. 
At  noon  the  next  day  he  mounted  to  the  cabin,  but 
found  it  deserted,  with  dusty  porch  and  locked  doors. 
There  was  no  sign  of  Ying.  Amsden  remembered  a 
squalid  Chinese  settlement  down  by  the  creek,  and 
wondered  if  Ying  could  consort  with  such  of  his  kind. 
It  might  be  natural,  but  the  idea  irritated  him.  The 
horses  were  not  in  the  shed;  but  Ellen  had  probably 
ordered  them  turned  out  before  she  left.  That  after 
noon  he  climbed  to  a  point  whence  he  could  see  the 
bald  mountain,  fifteen  miles  away,  which  Gilfillan  had 
pointed  out  to  him  the  day  they  walked  down  Lone 

269 


DR.    ELLEN 

Cedar  together.  "  Strong  as  a  man,  gentle  as  a  woman, 
ready  to  work  day  and  night  to  make  it  safe  and  sure;" 
the  preacher's  words  came  back  to  him,  and  stayed  in 
his  head  like  the  burden  of  a  song. 

After  that  the  days  dragged  unbearably.  The 
exaltation  of  the  high  mountains  left  him,  and  Amsden 
was  as  moody  and  despairing  as  any  other  lover;  he 
had  no  resource  but  to  haunt  the  empty  cabin,  which 
had  already  taken  on  a  look  of  blind  desolation.  Ying 
did  not  return,  and  he  was  moved  to  bitter  reflections 
on  the  faithlessness  of  Orientals. 

Every  evening  he  climbed  to  a  point  whence  he  could 
see  if  the  lights  were  lit.  He  had  just  given  up  and 
gone  in  on  the  sixth  night  when  a  cart  put  down  a 
tired  figure  at  the  cabin  door.  Ellen  sent  a  puzzled 
look  at  the  dark  windows,  then,  after  knocking  in  vain, 
found  a  key  under  the  mat,  and  let  herself  into  the 
living-room,  musty  with  stale  air.  Lights  revealed  a 
funereal  orderliness  of  furniture,  and  a  thick  film  of 
dust.  The  kitchen  showed  the  same  unused  aspect, 
and  a  cold  stove.  She  knocked  at  the  door  of  Ying's 
room,  then  pushed  it  open,  chilled  with  a  sudden  fear; 
but  there  was  no  one  there,  nor  in  the  rooms  upstairs, 
nor  in  the  shed.  Ellen  had  been  up  day  and  night, 
for  her  patient  had  needed  her  desperately,  and  the 
woman  who  was  expected  to  come  as  nurse  had  been 
detained;  she  was  hungry  and  cold  and  worn  out,  and 
the  emptiness  frightened  her.  Suddenly  she  sobbed 
wretchedly,  standing  with  her  palms  pressing  her 
cheeks.  Then  she  took  herself  in  hand  and  got  to- 

270 


DR.    ELLEN 

gether  a  supper  of  canned  things  and  tea,  and  built  a 
fire  in  the  living-room.  The  absence  of  some  of  Ruth's 
clothes  suggested  that  she  had  gone  with  Christine; 
but  what  about  Ying  the  faithful?  Had  everyone 
deserted  her? 

Uneasiness  deepened  to  nervous  terror  at  the  breath 
less  silence  of  the  place.  She  lit  the  candles  all  round 
the  walls  and  lay  down  on  the  hearthrug  with  a  cushion, 
too  wretched  to  go  to  bed.  Once  the  thought  of  Mr. 
Gilfillan  brought  quick  comfort,  and  she  hurried  to 
the  telephone ;  it  was  out  of  order,  and  she  could  get  no 
answer.  Then  she  cried  again,  scorning  herself  for 
her  weakness,  but  too  spent  to  fight  it.  Ten  o'clock 
came,  then  eleven.  One  of  the  candles  was  sputtering, 
and  she  rose  to  put  it  out,  then  paused  with  lifted  hands, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  door. 

There  was  a  step  on  the  trail,  mounting  steadily; 
now  it  had  reached  the  porch,  crossed  it,  halted  at  the 
door.  It  came  strongly,  like  that  of  a  friend,  yet  she 
could  not  move.  The  knock  was  repeated,  then  a 
voice,  Amsden's  voice,  asked: 

"Are  you  there,  Mrs.  Roderick?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  called,  throwing  back  the  door.  In 
her  relief  she  held  out  her  arms  to  him,  not  knowing 
what  she  did;  then  drew  back,  flushing  scarlet. 

"I  have  been  so  frightened  —  I  am  not  responsible," 
she  said.  "Where  are  they?  What  has  happened? 
Why  are  you  here?" 

"I  waited  for  you,"  he  explained,  following  her  to 
the  hearth-rug.  "I  couldn't  bear  that  you  should 

271 


DR.    ELLEN 

think  I  had  abetted  Ruth  in  running  away.     I  thought 
you  ought  to  have  been  told." 

"Where  has  she  gone?" 

11  To  Del  Monte  with  the  O'Haras." 

"And  you  let  her  go!"  There  was  strong  reproach 
in  Ellen's  voice. 

"How  could  I  stop  her?  Besides,  I  didn't  see  any 
harm  in  her  going;  it  was  her  not  telling  you  first  that 
I  blamed." 

"Why  didn't  Ying  stop  it?" 

"He  didn't  know.  He  has  been  gone  all  the  week, 
I  don't  know  where." 

She  faced  him  in  sudden  anger.  "And  you  couldn't 
trust  me  —  that  my  reasons  against  it  were  real  ones ! 
Oh,  I  have  tried  to  spare  her,  I  have  tried.  I  thought 
I  could  get  her  wholly  well  up  here,  and  she  need  never 
know.  Now  she  has  to  face  it." 

"Face  it?"  he  repeated. 

She  nodded.  Evidently  the  word  was  hard  to  say. 
She  laid  her  hands  on  her  chest. 

"Oh,  you  don't  mean — !"     But  he  knew  she  did. 

"Yes."  She  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  leaned  her 
head  on  her  hands.  "It  came  after  her  illness  three 
years  ago ;  but  her  doctor  and  I  believed  this  life  would 
wholly  cure  it.  Last  spring  she  seemed  really  well 
again.  Then  I  let  her  go  down  to  the  tournament, 
and  when  she  came  back  I  saw  -  "she  broke  off,  and 
presently  went  on  from  a  new  point:  "I  wanted  her  to 
have  this  one  good  time  with  you  all  before  she  had  to 
know." 

272 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  Then  it  was  for  her,  your  life  up  here  —  all  for  her  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  But  I  have  gained  out  of  it  im 
mensely,"  she  added  quickly.  "It  was  not  lost  time." 

"Oh,  and  I  judged  you,  I  blamed  you!"  He  knelt 
down  by  her  chair,  and  bent  his  forehead  against  her 
knee.  "Can  you  ever  forgive  me?"  Her  fingers 
passed  slowly  over  his  hair. 

"It  was  natural.  Besides,  I  was  to  blame.  I 
ought  to  have  told  her  in  the  first  place.  It  was  tyran 
nical,  to  try  to  bear  her  burden  for  her.  I  have  made 
her  hate  me."  He  drew  closer  and  took  both  her 
hands  in  his. 

"She  will  love  you  when  she  understands." 

"No;  she  will  resent  it.  Oh,  I  have  failed,  failed 
everywhere."  She  drew  her  hands  away  and  started 
from  her  chair.  "She  can  love  other  people,  but  not 
me.  It  was  the  same  in  my  marriage,"  she  went  on 
impetuously.  "We  were  both  very  young,  but  my 
husband  had  always  been  the  centre  of  an  adoring 
family  of  women,  helpless  women,  and  my  life  had 
made  me  —  more  mature.  He  —  hated  me  for  it, 
just  as  Ruth  does.  Oh,  I  tried  so  hard  not  to  be  — 
it  was  like  walking  with  bent  knees,  so  as  not  to  seem 
taller.  I  didn't  care  about  anything  on  earth  but 
keeping  him  —  you  know  how  one  loves  at  twenty." 

"I  know,"  Amsden  repeated,  his  eyes  lifted  to  her 
face. 

"But  it  was  no  use.  It  was  always  there,  and  he 
couldn't  forgive  it.  He  said  to  me  once,  'No  man 
could  stay  in  love  with  you  —  you're  too  infernally 

273 


DR.    ELLEN 

strong.'  That  was  the  day  before  he  —  you  knew  he 
was  killed?  It  isn't  the  sort  of  thing  one  forgets!" 

Amsden  had  no  consciousness  of  rising,  but  he 
found  himself  standing  in  front  of  her,  his  hands  on 
her  shoulders. 

"He  didn't  know.  I  shall  love  you  till  the  last  hour 
of  my  life.  How  can  I  make  you  understand  —  how 
can  I  make  you  care  for  me?" 

Her  eyes  fell.  "I  had  put  it  all  so  far  away  from 
me,"  she  said;  but  she  let  him  draw  her  close  and 
closer.  The  miracle  had  sprung  to  life  full  grown 
between  them.  It  was  in  their  hands,  and  their  grave 
eyes,  and  their  meeting  lips. 

"I  can't  believe  it,  that  you  care  now!  I  thought  it 
would  take  me  years  and  years." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  care."  Then  she  gently  drew  away 
from  him.  "But  it  is  no  use.  I  can't  take  it  now  — 
don't  you  see?" 

"No." 

"Think  of  Ruth.  She  is  losing  everything,  every 
thing  at  once.  How  can  I?" 

"But  you  have  given  up  three  years  of  your  life  for 
Ruth."  " 

"Think  what  she  has  to  face,  now.  How  can  I 
take  you,  too?  Besides,  I  can't  leave  her.  She  will 
have  to  stay  in  exile." 

"You  can't  sacrifice  us  both  to  her!" 

"How  can  I  leave  the  poor  little  soul  alone!"  After 
a  long  silence  he  lifted  her  hands  and  kissed  them. 

"You  are  right.  But  I  shall  find  a  way  for  us,  now, 
274 


DR.    ELLEN 

if  I  can.  And  if  not,  I  will  wait  as  many  years  as  I 
must.  There  is  one  thing  you  must  give  me." 

Her  hands  tightened  on  his.     "What?" 

"  To-morrow.  The  day  after  I  will  go  for  Ruth, 
but  to-morrow  must  be  all  mine."  She  lifted  her  face 
impetuously  to  his. 

"All  yours  —  every  moment  yours!" 

Several  candles  were  flaring.  Amsden  put  them  all 
out  and  piled  wood  on  the  fire  until  the  redwood  walls 
were  aglow  between  the  fluttering  shadows.  Then 
he  threw  himself  on  the  couch  and  held  out  his  arm  to 
her. 

"It  begins  now,"  he  said.  She  came  slowly,  as 
though  to  prolong  happiness. 


275 


XX 

THE  heavens  were  good  to  them,  and  poured  a  flood 
of  sunlight  into  their  last  day.  The  woods  closed 
after  them  in  the  brightness  of  the  morning,  and  the 
sky  behind  the  western  peaks  was  barred  with  fading 
scarlet  when  they  came  out  again.  After  their  supper 
they  sat  on  the  steps  in  the  velvety  darkness  while  the 
stars  blazed  out,  and  the  sound  of  little  falling  pine- 
cones  seemed  loud  in  the  stillness.  The  hours  had 
brought  them  heights  and  depths;  now  they  had  fallen 
back  on  hope  and  a  vast  content  in  each  other. 

"I  don't  believe  you  will  ever  come  to  hate  me,"  she 
said  thoughtfully.  "You  see,  you  are  more  terrible 
in  wrath  than  I  am!"  They  laughed  at  the  beloved 
memory  of  their  battle.  "It's  the  weaker  people  who 
hate  one,  for  the  hurt  to  their  vanity." 

"Don't  think  of  those  things,"  he  urged.  "This  is 
our  last  day." 

"I  can't  help  wondering  where  Ying  is." 

"It  doesn't  matter.  There  is  nobody  but  us  two  in 
the  whole  world,  and  we  — "  He  stopped,  and  they 
both  turned  startled  eyes  towards  the  trail.  They  had 
heard  the  stage  pass  below  several  minutes  before, 
and  now  someone  was  evidently  mounting,  very  slowly. 

276 


DR.    ELLEN 

Ellen  rose  and  opened  the  cabin  door,  letting  a  stream 
of  light  fall  on  the  path  as  two  figures  paused  on  the  top. 

"Ruth!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes;"  something  in  Ruth's  voice  made  Amsden 
spring  forward  to  help  her.  Then  he  saw  that  the 
other  figure  was  Ying. 

Ruth,  blinking  in  the  light,  dropped  into  the  nearest 
chair,  and  smiled  at  them  remotely. 

"I  bling  her  back,"  explained  Ying.  "She  bin 
sick;  she  be  al'  light  now." 

Ruth's  eyes  closed.  "I'm  all  well  again,  only  the 
trip  was  hard,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  want  to  go  to 
bed." 

"The  best  thing  you  could  do,"  said  Ellen,  warmly. 
"Ying  will  get  some  supper  for  you." 

"And  I  will  be  your  porter,"  said  Amsden.  "No, 
child,  you're  not  too  heavy."  He  gathered  her  up 
and  carried  her  to  her  room,  Ellen  following  with  a 
candle. 

It  was  an  hour  before  Ellen  came  back  to  him. 

"No;  she  is  all  right,"  she  said  in  answer  to  his 
quick  look.  "She  only  seems  tired  —  she  is  asleep, 
already.  But  something  has  happened.  Do  you  sup 
pose  she  knows  the  truth?  I  must  see  Ying." 

"This  is  still  my  day,"  he  reminded  her.  "You 
must  do  what  I  say." 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  a  tyrant!    What  are  your  orders  ? " 

"That  you  say  good-night  to  me  and  go  straight  to 
bed  without  another  word  to  anyone." 

She  lifted  her  face  with  tired  docility. 
277 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  Good-night,"  she  said. 

When  Ellen  stole  to  her  door  the  next  morning, 
Ruth  was  sitting  up  in  bed  finishing  her  breakfast. 

"I  am  all  right,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "I  wanted 
food  so  I  called  Ying.  Sit  down;  I  want  to  tell  you 
everything." 

Ellen  put  the  tray  outside,  then  drew  her  chair  close 
to  the  bed. 

"I  didn't  write  because  I  knew  Mr.  Amsden  would 
tell  you  where  I  had  gone,"  Ruth  began,  her  eyes 
turned  to  the  window  framing  the  western  mountains. 
"  I  hadn't  slept  for  nights,  so  the  excitement  of  getting 
off  was  too  much  for  me ;  the  trip  was  hard,  and  some 
thing  I  heard  from  Will  —  upset  me.  When  we  got 
to  the  O'Haras  I  felt  deadly,  and  then  —  then  I  had 
a  hemorrhage." 

"Oh,  Ruth!"  Ellen's  hand  went  out,  and  Ruth 
laid  hers  in  it,  though  her  eyes  did  not  leave  the  window. 

"  It  was  very,  very  slight.  I  should  not  have  thought 
much  of  it,  but  Mrs.  O'Hara  called  in  our  doctor,  and 
he  told  me  —  everything.  He  thought  I  knew,  at 
first,  and  then  he  had  to  go  on." 

"I  ought  to  have  told  you  —  I  was  all  wrong.  I 
wanted  to  spare  you,  Ruth,  but  I  had  no  right  to." 

Ruth's  fingers  tightened  on  hers.  "Yes;  you  ought 
to  have  told  me.  I  have  thought  such  cruel  things  of 
you,  and  all  the  time  you  were  sacrificing  everything 
to  me.  You  have  made  me  feel  —  like  dirt."  There 
was  a  hard  brightness  in  her  eyes,  though  Ellen's  were 
wet. 

278 


DR.    ELLEN 

"  You  know,  Ruth,  I  believe  you  can  get  wholly  well 
in  time,  if  you  will  be  patient,"  she  said  finally. 

"So  the  doctor  said,  and  I  am  going  to  believe  it." 
Ruth  drew  her  hand  away,  clasping  her  fingers  behind 
the  soft  fluff  of  her  hair.  "Ying  turned  up  the  next 
day,  and  bullied  me  horribly.  He  was  so  funny!  He 
waited  till  I  was  strong  enough  to  come  back.  So  he 
knew,  Ellen?" 

"Yes,  for  I  wanted  him  to  be  responsible  when  I  was 
away." 

"He  guessed  I  had  gone  to  the  O'Haras.  Of  course 
I  did  not  go  to  Del  Monte  at  all.  Now  for  the  prac 
tical  side,"  she  added,  after  a  pause.  "I  must  take 
up  my  life  and  run  it  myself,  and  you  must  go  back  to 
yours.  No  —  wait;  let  me  finish.  Someday — "her 
voice  faltered,  then  she  went  on  strongly  —  "some  day 
you  will  want  to  marry.  I  am  not  going  to  keep  you 
back  from  that.  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  support 
me  —  but  I  know  you  won't  mind." 

"Mind,  dear!    But  what  will  you  do?" 

"  Mrs.  O'Hara  is  not  very  well,  and  they  want  her  to 
go  to  Arizona  for  the  winter.  Christine  says  she  will 
go  if  I  come.  It  is  the  best  possible  place  for  me,  and 
they  are  not  afraid  to  take  me.  Can  you  afford  it?" 

"Of  course!    But,  Ruth,  you  really  want  to  go?" 

"Want  to!  Travel  and  people  —  I  can  hardly 
wait." 

"How  about  Will?" 

"Oh,  they  won't  be  married  till  spring,  anyway, 
and  Christine  won't  mind  leaving  him  now  that  they 

279 


DR.    ELLEN 

are  engaged,"  Ruth  explained  serenely.  Ellen  did  not 
wholly  understand,  but  dropped  the  subject. 

"And  what  will  you  do  next  year?" 

Ruth  seemed  suddenly  the  older  of  the  two.  "We 
will  wait  till  that  comes,"  she  said  decidedly.  "I  may 
make  friends  there  and  stay  on  indefinitely.  I  have 
to  run  myself."  Then  she  put  out  both  hands  with  a 
sudden  softening  in  her  eyes.  "Not  that  I  don't 
realize  what  you  have  done  for  me,  Ellen!  Not  that 
I  don't  love  you!"  Ellen  clung  to  her. 

"Oh,  Ruth,  Ruth!"  she  sobbed. 

"You  are  the  biggest  person  in  the  whole  world," 
Ruth  whispered.  "I  am  too  little  to  belong  with  you 
—  but  he  isn't.  Don't  let  him  go." 

A  step  sounded  on  the  porch  below.     Ruth  smiled. 

"  Go  down  and  tell  him  how  noble  I  am,"  she  com 
manded.  "It  won't  last  —  I'll  be  nasty  again  in  a 
week.  But  I  am  rather  enjoying  my  own  strength  of 
character  just  now." 

Ellen  looked  at  her  in  wonder.  The  smile  was  an 
honest  one;  her  amazing  gaiety  was  in  full  possession. 

"  Give  me  that  green  book  out  of  my  bag  before  you 
go,"  she  said,  sitting  up  with  energy.  "It's  about 
Arizona." 

THE  END 


280 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


REC'D 

;  111959 


SENT  ON  ILL 

MAR  0  9  2000 

U.  C.  BERKELEY 


HAY  31 '69  kM 


LD  21-100m-7,'52(A2528sl6)476 


